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andypantsx3 · 6 months

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INCENDIARY | 8 | BAKUGOU KATSUKI x READER

SUMMARY: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it. TAGS/WARNINGS: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort, themes of discrimination, canon typical violence, smut, aged up characters, fem pronouns + afab reader, 18+ mdni LENGTH: 3k, FIC MASTERLIST

For a few seconds, nothing made sense.

There was a rush of heat over your skin, skin-meltingly hot, and an arm around your waist. Then an explosion blew out all the sound around you. Your ears rang, and your hands scrabbled for purchase in Bakugou’s uniform as you were violently jerked backwards.

A rush of cooler air met your skin, and you realized you’d been pulled out of the car just as you watched it swerve and hit a light pole, the glass of the passenger windows shattering. You couldn’t hear the crunch of metal over the muffled ringing in your ears, but you could see the side of the car wrap around the pole, could imagine the metal squealing and screaming.

You were jerked out of the way again just as another rush of flame went flaring past you, so hot it felt like it had singed your skin, Bakugou’s arm curling around you as he aimed an explosion into the flames to blow you clear.

It was a testament to his strength and control that he was able to maneuver you with one arm, even as the two of you twisted midair, holding you tight against him as he caught his balance, bracing to steady you as you tripped wildly over yourself. He yanked you behind a parked car, blocking any clear shot at you, leveling a hand over the roof. Your hands still fisted in his uniform, you whipped around for the source of the flames—

Only to find him clearly, grinning wildly in the middle of the street, watching you over the top of the car.

Matsui looked just like the picture you’d been shown, all those months ago in the police station. He was plain, with dark eyes, thick dark brows and wisps of curly black hair. He might have been any other salaryman in the country, except for the naked hate that hung off his features as plainly as his clothes from his wiry shoulders.

Your heartbeat thudded against Bakugou’s chest, your nails digging crescents into the material of his uniform as a cold thrill of fear went down your spine.

And Matsui wasn’t alone. A jolt went through you as you noticed another figure beside him—a figure you’d last squared off against over the prickly grass of your campus lawn.

It was one of the QRAs. He seemed to be missing his other friends from that night, as the YouTube video you’d rewatched had made it clear you’d been yelling at three men the evening this had all started. And you were at least gratified to note he looked nervous, small and sweating, but the same hatred glowed clear across face.

It was funny, that all these months later, you had never actually learned his name. He was just some faceless jerk to you, a symptom of a cultural disease.

Bakugou’s voice in your ear, slightly muffled, notified you that your hearing was slowly returning to you. “—eyes on Matsui,” he was growling, and you realized he was speaking into an earpiece. “Some other fucking chump is with him, quirk unknown—”

But you knew it. You remembered from the comments of the video that had started this all: my guy out here with a pencil-sharpening quirk and he thinks he’s genetically superior.

“It’s—he can square the tip off of cylindrical objects,” you said, your voice slightly too loud in your own ears. “He was on my campus.”

A blonde eyebrow went up, but Bakugou quickly relayed the info, his eyes never leaving the pair in the middle of the street. “Get Monoma on the fucking cylinder idiot, I’ll get Matsui,” he finished. His mouth went hard as he seemed to listen to something back, grunting in return.

“Alright brat,” he said, turning to you. His tone seemed just a little bit clearer, the gravel in it pronounced. “Genius Office has a bunch of heroes on the way, not that we’re gonna need them for two fucking idiot civilians. Our backup is just a few streets that way,” he gestured in the direction of Matsui and the pencil sharpener guy. “I need you to get around them and make a run for them while I cover you. Can you do that for me?”

Your heart pounded in your throat, and your legs went weaker at the idea of moving out from behind the car. But Matsui had just torched one car—you were sure he’d be at it again in a minute.

You gathered yourself up, nodding. “Yeah. I can.”

At least Bakugou had been putting you through the paces this week so you had some level of exercise under your belt. You suddenly wished you’d had more, though. “I can run,” you said, to reassert yourself.

“Good girl,” Bakugou said, scarlet eyes flickering down to you momentarily. A little smirk touched his mouth, like he knew what he was doing.

You were embarrassed when a feeling like determination surged through you, your body responding to him even at a time like this. You let go of your death grip on his hero costume, testing your legs out under you. Somehow, the burn of your face was helping distract you from the weak, jelly-like consistency of your knees.

A spurt of flame made you jump, but it was just Matsui shaking out his hands, grinning at you over the roof of the car. He seemed to like that he’d scared you, and the guy with the pencil sharpening quirk laughed, pleasure twisting his thin mouth.

“Come on out, drunk girl,” Matsui finally crooned, his tone soft and medial. The sound of his voice made your skin crawl, and you suddenly wished for the deafening ring of Bakugou’s explosions again. “You think you’re my equal, don’t you? Weren’t you just on your way to tell the whole world that? Come on out and show me, little girl. Come out and show everyone how equal we are.”

The little pencil sharpener next to him looked smug, as though his quirk was any match up to Matsui’s either. You glowered at him, lip automatically curling.

“Just fucking run, brat,” Bakugou told you. “‘M gonna rip his intestines out right through his asshole, you’re not gonna wanna see it.”

A horrible little gurgling laugh escaped you. It was reassuring, Bakugou’s confidence. Fear still tingled down your spine but you thought if you started, you’d be able to keep running.

“Tell me when to go,” you breathed, testing your step again.

“Start running left as soon as I get out over this car,” Bakugou commanded. “He’s just some overpowered internet troll, he’s not combat trained. He’ll take the shot at me as soon as he sees me move and it’s gonna hit the right side of the car. It’ll block his visibility and you can get behind that bus stand before he’s done.”

You nodded. “And then?”

“As soon as he takes his next shot you keep going and don’t stop. I’ll handle him from there. Monoma’s in range and he’ll get the cylinder fuck as soon as I can get him clear of Matsui.”

You made a noise of acknowledgement, grateful you had Bakugou’s combat experience on your side. “Okay. Okay. I think I’m ready.”

Bakugou’s gloved fingers briefly touched yours and he nodded. Then he shook out his arms, bracing them behind him. “That’s my girl,” he said, sending a devastatingly feral smirk your way.

You had just a single moment for your heart to trip over itself, a flush breaking out across your skin. And then an explosion ripped apart the pavement behind him.

Immediately, a towering column of flame whirled past and you launched yourself out from behind the car just as you saw Matsui’s figure disappear behind it. The heat distorted the air in front of you, shimmering and waving as you threw yourself through it, tearing down the street as fast as you could.

A roaring explosion from Bakugou’s direction drowned out the slap of your feet, and you slid behind the ads papering the wall of the bus stop just as Matsui’s flames dissolved into the air. You heard another volley of explosions, crackling like fireworks, loud and obnoxious and clearly designed to draw attention.

The clatter of loose gravel pinged off of the bus stand, kicked up by the force of Bakugou’s power. Some of it skidded underneath, bouncing off your shoes in a riot of dusty pebbles and chunks.

You peered back out, trying to judge when to make your next move. You caught sight of Matsui aiming another shot after Bakugou, and your grip reflexively tightened on a piece of gravel, the rough, grainy edges cutting into your fingers. You watched as Bakugou dodged some sort of projectile thrown by the pencil sharpening asshole, too, and then maneuvered quickly as Matsui’s flames blazed to life in his hands.

As you watched, a sudden, overwhelming incredulity seized you. Matsui and the little pencil man were so dedicated to the idea of their own superiority that they were willing to risk life and limb against pro hero Dynamight. Their inflated fucking egos surpassed even quirk supremacy—like they thought they needed to feel truly supreme in all things, even against the firepower of one of the most dangerous pros of all time. Even as Bakugou clearly was just drawing attention and dodging until you were clear of the situation. He was so obviously just playing with them.

It was insane. It was stupid—they were so fucking stupid. They were so unbelievably full of themselves, and a white hot feeling choked you, all-encompassing in its intensity.

A certainty gripped you, like the memory of that night on campus when you’d first encountered the pencil sharpener QRA. It was so reductive, the idea of measuring yourself against someone based on arbitrary traits like strength or quirks. It was the ideology of a child, of an idiot, of someone so insecure in their own place in the world that they needed to dig people out of their own places so they could be insecure too.

But people were better than that. People could learn to be better than that, like Bakugou.

If anyone was lesser in this world, it wasn’t quirkless people. It was people who let themselves act lesser like this in their desire to be more, instead of confronting the reality of their own character.

And you had already proved you were not the type of girl who could keep taking things lying down.

Before you knew what you were doing, your grip was tightening on the piece of gravel. Your vision squared in on Matsui and the QRA, and your arm drew back, hefting the gravel in your hand. And then in a wild fit of emotion, you sent it arcing through the air, spiraling tightly, a messy but certainty-fueled throw.

It hit the pencil guy square in the back of the neck, knocking him into Matsui. Matsui stumbled, and the flames at his fingertips stuttered and guttered out.

Even from a distance, you could read the surprise on Bakugou’s face. An ugly, shocked laugh suddenly escaped him. Matsui quickly staggered back to his feet, wheeling on you.

But then an explosion swept across the street, blowing Matsui and the pencil guy right into the side of a building, your distraction the only opening Bakugou needed. They hit the stone with a dull thud, sliding down in a heap together, the pencil guy letting out a groan.

Bakugou and the hero you recognized as Monoma were there in an instant, strapping quirk suppressors right around their wrists, bearing them down to the ground. As soon as they had, a flood of other heroes and officers came washing out into the street, boots quickly scuffling in their direction.

You watched as officers cordoned off the street, ushering curious civilians back into their homes, and began to document the damage Matsui had caused. Several squad cars and an ambulance rolled into view, their lights sending flashes off of the surrounding windows, and Matsui and the pencil QRA were bundled away into them.

An officer came over to take a statement from you, and you fumbled your way through an explanation, mind still churning. You’d ended it. For all the talk about the superiority of their power, all it had taken was a wild throw from you to make both Matsui and the QRA stumble. All it had taken was the strength of your conviction to give Bakugou the opportunity to disable them for good.

Bakugou stalked over as soon as he’d given his own report, tearing off his gloves with his teeth and stowing them on his belt. His hair was a little windswept, and there was soot along the hinge of his jaw, but he was otherwise unharmed, not even a single burn through the fabric of his uniform. He glowed with the flush of a fight, of a job well done, and you thought he had never looked quite so handsome.

“Nice shot, princess,” he told you, flashing you a wicked white smile, sending a searing heat pooling in your stomach. “Thought I told you to run though.”

But he didn’t seem angry, because then his calloused fingers came up to take your chin, and he seized your mouth in a hard kiss.

You felt yourself flush all the way down to your toes, kissing him back eagerly. You were heady with your own success, with the way Bakugou had looked at you.

“We’re gonna be late for the interview,” you said when he finally let your mouth free.

Bakugou looked momentarily like he would rather bear you back off into the safehouse than let you go to the interview. And you did plan to thank him incredibly thoroughly for the save, once you’d made it back into some semblance of privacy together.

But you had things to say, still. Things to say now especially that you’d shut down a couple more internet trolls so handily. Now that you’d proven the ferocity of their ideology didn’t hold up in the real world—not when regular, everyday people like you had something to say about it.

“Always running that fucking mouth, brat,” Bakugou said, but his tone was nothing but appreciative. He set upon a nearby officer with alacrity, commandeering him and his car to shuttle you over to the studio, stuffing himself in after you resolutely.

He kept a hand on you the entire way, and stalked after you down the halls of the studio, sending the hordes of producers and production assistants into a frenzy. When they finally let you out of hair and makeup after scrubbing all the street grime off of you, he watched you carefully, those eyes hot on you as you settled into the chair opposite your interviewer, his mouth quirked up in a ferociously appreciative smirk.

The interviewer greeted you, and you answered her back, feeling safe and warm and secure under your boyfriend’s watch. And then the interview began, and she prompted you carefully, the same questions you’d been running over in your head for days.

“We’ve asked you here today for commentary on the cultural barriers that quirkless people like yourself face, and the National Diet’s efforts in passing a bill that would help tackle these issues,” she said, nodding at you warmly. “Is there anything you think is especially important for people to know about what it’s like to be quirkless in a society like ours?”

You took a breath in, and reviewed your answer determinedly. You’d bash quirk supremacy the way you had Matsui, like it was a neck and you were a bit of gravel, kicked up in all the fighting.

You leaned in and ran your mouth like you always did. This time, with nothing but firm resolution, assurance, and one admittedly hot, supportive boyfriend behind you.

UPDATE: QUIRKLESS LEGEND TAKES DOWN PRO-QUIRK BIGOT | REACTION Mika Reacts · 2.19M subscribers 3 hours ago · 11:24 · 1,006,041 views Description Hey guys, quirkless girl aka “drunk girl” is back on my channel in a jaw-dropping joint takedown by her and pro hero Dynamight. Right before an interview on New Day Japan yesterday… [SHOW MORE]

karma is a rock, karma is the gravel to ur neck on the weekend greenhopp 3 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 900 [Thumbs Down]

omg they gave him the fucken combo!!!! 🪨💥my man got the 10 piece with a biscuit no drink goddamn Hisa Ota 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 600 [Thumbs Down]

yooooooo remember the time i said she didn’t need a quirk to put one of these bros in a coffin?? dm me if u want ur future told. now accepting venmo and cash app. yeetus deletus 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.2k [Thumbs Down]

END NOTES: We finally made it, guys!! Thank you so much for sticking with this series for what ended up being over 1.5 years, my longest fic span yet, and being patient with me every step of the way. I have said it before but this fic especially has been my biggest challenge, and I am so grateful for the support that helped me make it all the way to the end.

I also want to say thank you again to my sensitivity readers @darkenedniqhts and @cat-slippered for helping me tell this story in the cleanest and most respectful way possible. I would not have tried my hand at anything with themes like these if it wasn't for you guys helping hold me accountable and educating me at key points. I appreciate everything you have done to make both the story and myself better over the course of its telling. I will be forever grateful.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader

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drivemysoul · 1 month

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tagged my beloved @dearreader thank you sm 😭😭

the last song i listened to: in too deep by sum 41

favorite color: black

currently watching: attack on titan

spicy/savory/sweet: sweet > spicy > savoury

relationship status: dating the coolest girl to ever exist <3

current obsession: sword art online, taylor swift, tattoos, my chemical romance. think attack on titan is a new hyperfixation for sure

favorite board game: SCRABBLE. also monopoly, also dnd if it counts.

coffee or tea: tea

favorite piece of clothing i own: my eras tour hoodie or my black lacy leathery sparkly lingerie set. usually worn together.

last movie i watched: it was either tron or highlander (i think) (don’t judge me)

dogs or cats: cats :3 obligatory missy pics + niko

tagging: @approximateknowledge @singlethread @xeolf @slut-kiss-g1rl @ anyone else who wants to do this sorry i’m bad at urls 😭😭😭😭

#taylor.txt #tag games #thank youuuuuuu

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fic-over-cannon · 4 months

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The Ghost of You

jason todd x f!reader

summary: you’re in love with jason todd but he doesn’t know you can see ghosts. he finds out.

tags: fluff, off screen sex, angst, supernatural elements

rated mature | wc: 4.2k

a/n: finally got around to writing up the fic idea I sent in this ask. there will be a happy ending (eventually) so please bear with me

It’s cold in the apartment. The curtains are blowing in the empty breeze, window open from when it was wrenched wide. I should close that, you think numbly to yourself, but you’re not really sure that your legs will hold you long enough to cross the room. There’s pins and needles racing through your calves, spreading up to your thighs but you don’t have it in yourself to care. Jason’s gone, maybe never coming back.

On the day you met Jason, his grin was bright like the sun. You’d met at the local library when you dropped your stack of books heading to the return desk. Scrabbling to pick up your books and get out of the way, you’d bumped hands with someone. Looked up to meet his eyes and seen the sun. Jason had helped you gather up the fallen books, accidentally knocking his knuckles into yours the whole time. He’d picked up The Scarlet Pimpernel from the scattered pile and started an enthusiastic conversation about it. By the time you’d left the library, you’d gotten his number in your phone and a new book under your arm.

You’d been so distracted by your conversation that you’d forgotten to stop by and say hello to Ms. Einarsdottir in the romance novel section. Given that she’s been dead for 38 years, she probably won’t mind you missing your weekly greeting, but it’s the principle of the thing. You end up going back to the library the next day to make your apologies but the old ghost is so excited to hear about your meet cute that the two of you end up discussing it for almost an hour. The lovely woman even helps you write your first text to Jason, hovering over your shoulder and gently trying to dictate to you.

You had first seen Ms. Einarsdottir when you were six years old and looking for your mother after losing her in all the tall bookshelves. Despite it being a summer’s day this particular section of the library had been cool, a lure for any overheated child. Rounding a shelf, an older woman with her thick white hair in a braid and half-moon spectacles perched on her nose had been reading a book with a bright cover.

Tilting your head to make out the title better, you had asked, “Whatcha readin’?”

The poor woman had startled, badly, then scolded you for being in a section for grown ups. She’d relaxed when you’d asked if she’d seen your mother, placed her book down on the little reading table and engaged you in a conversation all about yourself. Your mother had found you there nearly 20 minutes later, sitting cross legged in front of an empty chair and discussing your new favourite hair bows in an excited whisper. Your mother had squeezed your hand tightly as she walked you out of the library, so engrossed in scolding you that she didn’t notice you wave over your shoulder to the incorporeal woman.

That had been your first meeting with Ms. Einarsdottir, though certainly not the last. She’d become a grandmother figure to you over the years, and nearly every week you were in Gotham you had made a point of going in to see her. She had been your first ghost.

You can see ghosts. You’ve been able to ever since Ms. Einarsdottir, and for you they’re as real as any living person. There’s no great trauma or origin story for this ability. One day you had just woken up, walked into the Gotham Public Library, and started seeing ghosts. You don’t tell anyone, really. There’s enough flavours of weird in Gotham that people would probably believe you, but it would feel strange to go around announcing this ability. As a child you were scared you’d be bullied for it, still were for seemingly talking to yourself until you’d gotten better at disguising whispers. As an adult, you’re not sure how much good it would do to say anything. You can’t summon the dead to help those grieving a loss, and most of the time the ghosts you meet simply need to be reminded they’re dead in order to move in. Most people wouldn’t want others digging into their business while they’re alive, why would they feel differently when they’re dead?

So for the most part you live an ordinary life. You wake up and go to work at the hospital. You go out to dinners with friends and on disappointing dates. Maybe sometimes in between you remind an old man that no one else can see that he’s no longer living, or give directions to a little boy that everyone else just walks right through. Occasionally the Gotham Police might get an anonymous tip on a years old murder. It’s your normal.

Your new normal with Jason is so, so good. You fit together in places you didn’t even realize were missing. The first date quickly turns into five, laughter bright and constant. Jason volunteers on the weekends, then comes to pick you up from your shifts with your favourite sandwich from the deli near Crime Alley. He brings flowers to every date and his hands tremble the first time he unzips your little black dress. He’s downright adorable when you kiss him on the cheek after offering to drop you off for brunch with your friends. Your friends giggle over him as he pulls away from the curb, demanding details. It’s easy loving him and being loved by him.

You move into his apartment, too quickly according to his little brothers. Dinners out with friends turn into entertaining at home, and taking it in turns bringing dishes that fill the apartment with mouthwatering smells. Nights out at the movies ending with heated discussions about how “the physics of explosives don’t work like that” curled up on the couch. Jokes from Dick about domesticating Jason, as the man himself childishly sticks his tongue out behind his brother’s back. Agreeing to be a plus one at a gala only if there will be french fries after. Hiding smiles behind glasses of champagne as you watch him try to navigate the crush of flirtatious socialites. You love him so much, and if the completely unsubtle questions about your taste in jewellery are anything to go by, you’ll get to love him forever.

Jason doesn’t so much tell you he’s the Red Hood as dump the evidence in your lap by accident. You’re home early (or late as it is), having been bumped to an earlier return flight from a girl’s trip after your best friend got dumped over text. You weren’t supposed to be back for another 16 hours, a fact that Jason clearly was counting on. Juggling your purse and your suitcase, you’re not paying attention as you walk through the door, trying to put your keys away. There’s voices in the living room that go dead silent as you turn the corner. Looking up to see who’s visiting, you freeze.

Dick’s sitting on your couch, a bag of frozen peas held against the bruise blooming on his cheekbone. He’s wearing Nightwing’s suit and the blue domino is on the coffee table, pushed out to make room for all of the people currently invading your living room. There’s Stephanie right next to him, frozen mid-bite, pizza almost falling out of her black-and purple gloves. Tim’s on the floor, leaning against Steph’s legs, looking more exhausted than usual and horrified. Lastly, there’s Jason. Sitting in the far corner of the couch, feet in Dick’s lap, with the Red Hood’s damaged helmet cradled in his lap. You stare at each other, and you can feel your jaw physically drop. The cheese on Steph’s pizza slips right off, landing in her lap with a wet sound breaking the moment.

“I can walk right back out and come in again?” You offer up weakly.

It breaks the hold of silence on the room, suddenly everyone talking at once. Except for Jason. He stares at you and you can’t look away, the clamour of voices fading away under the strength of your gaze. He swallows, hard.

“Stay, please? I can explain.” And he does.

It takes hours, and you steal slices of cold pizza for yourself. Tim and Steph are fast asleep on each other by the end and Dick’s had to switch out the melted peas for an ice pack you’ve fished out the back of the freezer. Jason’s scared, you can tell. Keeps starting and stopping, lets Dick take over the threads of the story, fidgets with the hem of his jacket and keeps turning the helmet over in his hands.

“—so that’s everything. Uh, I’m the Red Hood.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Just ‘okay’?” He repeats in disbelief.

“Yup. I’m probably going to have a thousand questions for you once I’m not exhausted from traveling all day, but okay. You’re the Red Hood. Which, actually explains a lot of things, if I’m being honest. But,” and you clap your hands together, “that’s going to wait because I’m pretty sure we’re all going to pass out any minute. Dick, you’re welcome to the couch if you can help Jason move those two,” and you point at the sleepers, “over to the guest bedroom.”

Guests taken care of, you push up off the floor, grab your bags, and head to the bedroom. You drop your bags just inside the door, a task for future you to deal with. Stumbling over tired feet, you manage to wash your face and change into pyjamas before falling into bed. Jason comes in, stands in the doorway hand on the knob, like he can’t bring himself to get any closer. You flop your arm out and pat his empty side of the bed.

“S’cold. You coming to bed soon?”

It takes another breath before he starts to move, a silhouette in the light from the hall. He shuffles around, the sounds comforting in their familiarity. The mattress dips under his weight, but he doesn’t curve to the shape of you like he usually does, stiff as a board instead. Huffing out a breath, you wrap an arm around his torso and pull at him until he’s arranged around you the way you like.

“I love you, y’know. You running around in a onesie getting shot at doesn’t change that.” You mumble into the side of his neck.

He says something in reply, but you’re already drifting off to sleep. As far as you’re concerned, anything else can wait. And it does. The next morning you ask as many questions as you can think of as Jason makes a late breakfast for the both of you. You unpack your bags, and he’s still answering questions as you throw in your travel laundry. You can’t hold keeping a secret against him, not when there’s still your own small part of you that you haven’t shared yet.

His revelation does answer the questions you’d been holding onto about late night disappearances, mysterious bruises, and secretive looks over your head with his family. It puts some of the ghosts you’ve seen hanging around into context, tragedies crystallizing in your mind. It brings you closer, even if he’s not willing to share some of the more horrific details of his cases with you. He asks you, once, how you feel about dating the Red Hood. You laugh and call him silly. You’re not dating the Red Hood, you’re in love with Jason Todd. His slow look of quiet wonder is possibly the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, you tell Ms. Einarsdottir (you elect not to tell her about how he’d laid you out in your bed after and eaten you out for hours after, your thighs trembling around his ears).

Together, you piece together a new normal. Jason texts to let you know he’s going on patrol and if he’ll be back before morning. You insist that he lets you know about all of his injuries, even if it’s just a scratch. He stops hiding his work from you, brings home files and folders (without pictures) to spread out on the coffee table and pull out his hair over. He’ll ask you for your input sometimes, a medical perspective on how Scarecrow’s newest fear toxin works biologically or if there’s a pattern between post-mortem reports. It’s not the life you envisioned for yourself, but you love it nonetheless because of who you are building it with.

The thought crosses your mind, occasionally, that you could help more. That instead of calling in anonymous tips on pay phones to the GPD, you could just talk to Jason. But no ghost has told you anything for weeks, or at least nothing related to their deaths and so the urgency to tell him passes. You grow complacent in this new life.

A few months later, and you’re running out of the hospital on your break to try and buy a cup of coffee from the stand in the courtyard. It’s the only place marginally on hospital grounds with half-way decent beans and you need that extra hit of caffeine to get through the last three hours of your shift. In your rush, you almost run through a young boy, managing to stop yourself just in time. He doesn’t seem to notice you at all, staring off at the small slit of the basement window.

“Hello?” You ask, tentative.

He turns, slowly, like he can’t quite be sure that someone’s talking to him. He’s painfully young, scrawny in a way that implies older than he looks but chronically underfed. It’s his eyes that get to you, large enough to swallow up his whole face and blearily lost.

“D’you know the way home, miss?” It’s a whisper on the breeze, barely a sound at all. Something catches his attention then, steals his focus away to an unseen threat that causes his incorporeal body to lock up in fear. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Honey, I know you’re probably really scared and confused, but I can see you, okay? Now you might not know this yet, but you’re a ghost now.” There’s horror in the little boy’s eyes, and it’s growing fast. It’s not directed at you, but somewhere behind you. You turn, trying to see over your shoulder, but there’s nothing there but sunshine.

“Listen to me, you’ve died and what is happening right now is you’re caught in a loop of your own death. You just need to realize you’re dead to snap out of it.” It happens sometimes, ghosts caught in the rip curl of their deaths, repeating echoes of it in their disbelief at dying. You reach out, desperately wishing you could hug this child because terror is swallowing him whole. He turns, desperate, and starts running, mouth moving in unheard screams. He runs into an invisible obstacle, scrambling on his hands and knees, and then winks out of existence.

The sunny day is suddenly cold. You look around, but everyone else in the courtyard is unbothered by the sights they did not see. On autopilot, you make it through the line, adding your change to the tip jar and burning the palms of your hands on the hot paper cup. The coffee’s tasteless, only notable for the way it burns down your throat but it gets you through the last of your shift. You can’t erase the image of the boy’s face, young and deathly afraid. It haunts you; you couldn’t forget his face if you’d tried and you’re not sure you should.

Over the next few weeks, a case takes hold of Jason. It possesses him and drives him out of your bed to pour over files he won’t let you see in the dead of night. He won’t speak of it, red-rimmed eyes and stony faced. He can’t sleep over it, mumbles something about not being able to get the images to leave him alone. You push the issue only once, over a shared lunch you had to badger him to take a break for. It goes badly, Jason freezing you out. He apologizes later, for ruining the lunch you’d gone to the effort to make and for hurting you. The two of you have agreed to never go to bed angry with each other, and you never do. It hurts to see him like this. You keep showing support in whatever small gestures he’ll accept, hoping that eventually he’ll open up.

He does. Shoves the files away from him on the coffee table and leans into you where you’re curled up on the couch reading. You wrap your arms around him, fingers curling into his hair as he breaks down.

“I know you know there’s a case. Couple’a weeks ago a kid’s body turned up in the harbour, died on the way to the hospital. He wasn’t the first to be found, but this kid, he would’ve died in so much pain. And it’s tearing me to fucking pieces because every single lead has turned up short.” He has to pause before he can go on, breath thick with emotions. “I care about getting justice for every last one of those kids, but this one, this kid was personal.” You’re pretty sure that there’s hot tears burning a patch on your shoulder, but you say nothing, just keep stroking his hair.

“His name— his name was Matty. You know that community centre I volunteer at on weekends? That’s where I met him. God, he was such a bright kid. Had his whole future planned out, was gonna get out of Crime Alley and become a pianist. Just, he was so young and so full of hope and now none of those dreams are gonna come true.”

It’s evident in the way his voice cracks and his body shakes that he’s taken it so personally that someone so young and under his protection has been snuffed out. Something about this dead boy reminds Jason a little too much of himself. Maybe because they died at the same age, or he was once that scrawny and featherlight too. The police have no leads, chalking it up to just another Crime Alley street kid meeting an inevitable end. He’s got none either, all the evidence drying up and trails gone cold.

Jason tells you more about Matty, how he hated playing sports but was really good at soccer. How he’d been introduced to music in school and found what felt like his purpose in life. How Matty’s parents had worked and saved up to afford lessons for him, sending him down to the community centre to practice on the available piano. The first time Jason had met him, he’d been trying out to play in the orchestra for the musical the community centre was trying to put together and Jason had been helping to run it.

Jason pulls out his phone, swipes with clumsy fingers to find a video from one of Matty’s impromptu concerts at the community centre. The music is a little tinny front the beat up speakers of Jason’s phone, but it’s beautiful. The video’s shot with a shaky hand, and it takes a few seconds for you to really register Matty’s face. When you finally do, your heart plummets and your fingers involuntarily tighten around Jason.

“I know him. I saw him, just the other day.” It comes out before you can stop it, tongue and lips moving before you can stop yourself. The worst part is, it’s true. The Matty in the video is smiling, hamming it up for his audience, but those are the same wide eyes you saw swimming with terror at the hospital. The same bird-like bones and long fingers that had scrabbled at the ground before disappearing. You know this boy’s ghost.

Jason’s looking at you like you’re speaking in a language he’s never even heard of. “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny.”

“Wait, wait. It’s not a joke. Jason, I wouldn’t— I’d never joke about this.” You sit up and draw back, need to see his face, need to let him know exactly how truthful you’re being. “I saw him, the other day, at the hospital.” Jason tries to interrupt you, but you don’t let him speak. “I saw him because he’s a ghost and I can see ghosts and speak to them and I recognized Matty in that video because I saw him the other day and he looked so scared Jay.” You reach out to Jason, not really sure of what you’re looking for, but he pulls back.

“Okay, so maybe this isn’t a joke but I think you need to go get your head checked out if you’re seeing things that aren’t there.” His voice is uncharacteristically thin, like he’s trying to convince himself that this is just a psychological problem and not reality. You’re frustrated and desperate now, needing him to believe in you more than ever because this might actually be the thing to break you if he can’t believe.

“Jay I’m not crazy, or impaired, or suffering any head trauma. Okay? This is real. I’ve been seeing them since I was a kid and I’m telling you I saw Matty the other day. The first time we met, I was heading to the library because there’s a ghost haunting the romance section that I like to visit once in a while. I’ve been calling in tips to the GPD about abandoned bodies for years for the ghosts that can’t do it themselves. With all of the things that go on in Gotham, do you really think that something like this is impossible?”

“Okay, so you can see ghosts. What, do we need to get a Ouija board in here and Matty’ll just tell us what happened?” The words say that he believes you, but his tone screams uncertainty. It’s a start though, even if it’s a misguided one.

“No— ugh, it doesn’t work like that. Ghosts, they get tied to places, people. I can’t call them, I have to go to them.”

“What do you mean, tied to people?” He asks, eyes narrowed and voice tight.

“Like they get attached to a person, maybe someone they have unfinished business with, or maybe that they really cared for. You know, when you told me you were the Red Hood, and I told you that made a lot of things make sense? This was one of them.” And that, that was the absolute worst way you could have tried to explain it.

He jerks back and there is such a look of horror and fear in his eyes. Not of you, never of you and your abilities, but for what and who he fears you might see clinging to him. The choking sensation of grave dirt. The faces of the people he’s killed to make Gotham safer. The enemies he’s made and buried, and the people he was too late to save. Literally the blood on his hands in a twisted parody of Lady Macbeth. He is terrified that you can see the monster he has always feared himself to be. That all of his sins are arrayed around him, inescapable and unforgivable.

“I don’t— I can’t. What— what do you see?” He whispers, almost inaudible. You open your mouth to answer, but the fear of what you might say is too consuming.

Jason is up and running, prying open the window on the fire escape and escaping out into the winter’s night. You can’t do much more than reach after him, sliding off the couch and landing hard on to legs that don’t work.

You don’t get the chance to tell him that all you see is a 15-year old with a gap toothed, blinding grin wearing the Robin colours with pride. You don’t get to tell him that that 15-year old boy always tells you when Jason comes back hiding an injury or asks you to make sure he’s eating more than cigarettes. You don’t get to tell him that even from beyond the grave, Jason Todd never stopped saving people.

“Go, go after him. He needs you more than I do right now.” You whisper.

The ghost of Jason Todd gives you one more desperate look, before running out into the cold after his older self. Now, now you’re truly alone. That’s the thought that shatters you, rips sobs from where you curl in to your gut. Tears burn then grow cold on your face. You lose track of time, sitting there in a heap on the floor.

The wailing of a distant siren finally jolts you from your stupor, enough to start trying to stand. Using the couch, you pull yourself up, stumbling and tripping from the numb tingling in your legs. It’s cold out tonight, the first few flakes of snow starting to drift down. You wrestle with the window, curtains whipping into your face and arms. This window has always been difficult usually it’s Jason’s job but you manage to force it down. Leaving the glass to clean up tomorrow, you stagger off to the bedroom, the hole where your heart was aching. The window stays unlocked though, that night and every other night after. Just in case.

#jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #red hood x you #red hood x reader #sunnie writes 🌻#jason todd

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senorabond · 2 months

Text

Rumor Has It: Chapter 8 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 8 Summary: Before going any further, you set some ground rules with Javi. Then it's fucking game on.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), flashback, slowburn that got hot, workplace romance, ohh the yearning, fake relationship, keeping it secret, unprotected PIV sex (stay safe, folks), Dom/sub dynamic, use of Daddy, slight degradation kink (you’re a good little slut/whore), rough sex, possessiveness, cuckolding if you squint (I really don’t know how to describe it), dirty talk (Javi has a filthy mouth), light titty/ass spanking (2 light, 1 harder), hair pulling, spit, talk about anal, very light cumplay/eating, aftercare, soft!Javi, a bit of feels.

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color. Reader is short enough to notice a difference in height without heels and has hair long enough to brush aside and pull back.

Words: 8.1k

Author’s Note: THEY FINALLY FUCK - Jeeeeesus. Took them long enough, huh? Please let me know if I missed anything I should add to the warnings, I feel like I took a kinky bag of scrabble tiles and just dumped them out on the floor with this chapter. This is easily the filthiest fucking thing I’ve ever written, and I’m actually really proud of myself. My new taglist is at the end! If you’d like to be added, just send me a DM or say so in a comment. ❤️

A ginormous thank you to my darling beta, @kilamonster. I could not have written this without your neverending support and tutelage. I can’t wait to write more smut in Spanish with you! Also, I’m not sorry for sending you periodic updates and random questions about the thots running wild in my head. 💋💜

Also, for anybody else like me who wants to write more smut in Spanish, @kilamonster sent me this incredible resource written by the amazing @urmomsgnocchi. Representation is so important, and this is just one of the many ways writers can do their part to represent different languages and cultures in their work. Please like, comment, and reblog the post so more writers can benefit!

Dividers by @saradika!

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

“Okay, ‘grown ass woman,’” he says, and you let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a choice for you to make.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Your place or mine?”

~*~*~*~

Later That Night Texas

You chose your place. Javi says he’ll give you a half hour head start to avoid any suspicion from the other agents. You’ve put your blazer back on and fixed your hair, but the wet heat between your legs remains.

The gallery event wraps up, and Javi tells the others to report to the conference room the following morning for the official debrief. You check in with Diaz, who is still at the hospital, and are glad to hear that Bateman is already in post-op recovery and doing well.

Standing in your kitchen back home, old, familiar feelings wash over you. The adrenaline of the night has worn off, leaving you off balance. Marcus comes to mind, and his calm, grounding energy. You groan in frustration. You can’t let thoughts of Marcus creep in and ruin what is happening with Javi.

What is happening with Javi? Obviously, the sexual tension between you is off the charts; and the chemistry – oh God, the chemistry. Your heart rate goes up just thinking about how it felt to have his mouth and hands on you finally, his hardness pressing into you through his pants…

Taking a deep breath, you mutter to yourself, “I need a drink.”

Glass of wine at the ready, you kick off your heels and hang up the blazer in your closet. You feel as taut as a harp string and take a large gulp from your wine, hoping it will relax you. Rolling your neck and shoulders, you hear your phone buzz on the kitchen counter.

Setting the glass down, you take a deep breath and pick up your phone.

It’s a text from Javi. Maybe he changed his mind, or decided sleeping together wasn’t worth the risk to the case or your careers. Unlocking the screen, you read the text only to see that he’s giving you a final chance to change your mind.

I’m here. Do you still want me to come inside?

Peeping through the blinds, you look down at the parking lot outside your apartment building. The streetlamp casts just enough light to see Javi’s Jeep parked in one of the visitors’ spots. The man himself is in shadow, pacing a bit and fidgeting with his phone, presumably waiting for your reply. You smile, realizing that he might actually be a tad nervous too.

Opening your front door, the light from your apartment spills across the walkway outside and catches Javi’s attention. He stops and looks up expectantly to where you stand, backlit and beckoning to him from the second floor railing. Pocketing his phone, Javi makes a beeline for the stairs and takes them two at a time, reaching you in less than a minute.

The first thing you notice is the difference in your height, now that you’re barefoot. He’s smiling down at you, fingers dancing at his sides.

“Touch me,” you reply softly, “please.”

His tongue pokes out and wets his bottom lip.

“Inside.” Javi’s voice is strained, but firm.

Turning, you lead him inside your apartment, then hear him shut and lock the door behind him. You start to face him, but he interrupts.

“Don’t. Stay like that for me.”

Footsteps approach slowly from behind, making a coil tighten in your lower belly. You feel his presence at your back before he even touches you. Goosebumps erupt across your flesh as his fingers lightly graze your shoulders and upper arms.

A hand sweeps your hair to one side and off your neck. You tilt your head in the same direction, hoping to feel his lips on your sensitive skin. Javi’s hands still and he leans over to speak low in your ear.

“If we do this, I only have one rule.”

You smirk, remembering the first time he said that.

“You make the rules?” You start to turn your head to look at him, but his grip on your upper arms tightens just enough to hold you in place. His mustache twitches against the shell of your ear as he smiles, sending delicious signals to your already peaked nipples.

“No.” He takes a breath through his nose, smelling your hair. “You do.”

You let out a surprised Oh.

“You’re in charge of this; you decide what we do or don’t do, and how far this goes.” He walks around to face you, and you’re surprised to see how gentle his eyes are. They’re round and sincere, serious but not stern. You can’t wait to see them looking up at you from between your legs.

“Understand?”

You nod and he cups your face, running the pad of his thumb over your mouth and parting your lips.

“Use your words, cariño. I need to hear it.”

“I understand,” you say, then drag the tip of your tongue against his thumb. He lets out a pleased hum.

“Good. Now, tell me your rules.” His other hand strokes your lower back, sending shivers up your spine.

“Oh. Um, I – I don’t know,” you stutter.

He drops his hands and takes half a step back. “We’re not doing anything until you set the rules.”

“But–”

“This is important, cariño. I’ll give you a moment to gather your thoughts.”

And just like that, Javi’s walking away from you and sitting on your couch. What the hell is happening here?

He’s right, of course, damn the man. You want to be mad, but don’t know what to be mad about – how respectful he is? Letting out a deep sigh, you go back to the kitchen and pick up your glass of wine.

“Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?” Your voice comes out a bit more caustic than intended, and the sound of Javi’s throaty chuckle from the living room makes you bristle.

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

The man sounds so calm and unfazed you want to throw something at him, but instead, you pout like a grown up and pour another glass. You set it on the small end table to his left and start pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table.

Stuck in a quandary like this, you used to be able to call Marcus up and talk it through, but that sounds as appealing as lemon juice in a paper cut right now. Besides, even if Marcus would help you get laid, he’s probably busy with his girlfriend.

Sighing, you sit down next to Javi and face him. In this position, the hem of your dress rides all the way to the top of your hip, but you’re in no mood to be modest. Javi takes a sip of his wine and turns slightly in your direction. He puts an arm along the top of the couch, and you try not to notice the way his suit jacket opens, revealing his broad chest sloping down to hint at a soft belly. His thighs splay invitingly, and you bite your bottom lip.

“Cariño?” Javi’s eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Right. The rules.” You set your glass of wine down and try to focus. Javi waits patiently, but you can see his fingers toying with the fabric on the back of the couch. He’s just as anxious to get this part over with.

“Rule number one: nothing at work. Ever. Not even after hours or in the parking lot. Nothing.”

Javi nods in stout agreement.

“Rule number two: it’s just sex. We’re simply two consenting adults with insane chemistry, privately enjoying the hell out of each other’s bodies.”

“Enthusiastically consenting,” Javi smirks, and sets his glass of wine next to yours so he can stroke your bare thigh. The hunger in his eyes is distracting, but you manage to pull your thoughts together one last time.

“And lastly, but most importantly – rule number three: what happens undercover stays undercover.”

Javi’s hand stills on your skin and he looks at you curiously. “You mind expanding on that a bit?”

“Our cover is just that; a story, playing pretend. We don’t let it blur the lines of whatever we do outside of the investigation. We have to compartmentalize.”

Javi takes a moment, considering what you’ve said, then nods. Looking you over, he slides his hand up to your hip and leans in, closing the space between you on the couch.

“I guess that means we better get out of these clothes.”

“That's a great –” You don’t even get to complete the sentence before his mouth is on yours again. In seconds, his mouth is devouring yours again, his hands feverishly roaming over your hips and ass.

Javi takes his hands away just long enough to shrug out of his suit jacket while you make quick work of removing his tie. He tries to pull the straps of your dress down, but they get stuck on your shoulders. Grunting in frustration, his hands try locating the zipper of your dress on your back.

You might have let him struggle a bit more simply for the fun of it, but your skin is on fire, desperate to feel more of him.

You pull your mouth away from his long enough to gasp, “On the side. Here,” and point to the thin zipper hidden in the ruched fabric.

“You’re lucky you said something, I was about to rip this thing off you,” Javi growls, making you giggle. “Does that amuse you, cariño? Making me suffer?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit with a small shrug, but your voice is breathless. He’s moved his mouth to your neck, where he licks a swath of skin across your fluttering pulse.

The zipper is finally down, and Javi tugs the straps of your dress and bra down at the same time, pinning your arms to your side and freeing your breasts.

“Jesus,” he breathes, taking in your exposed flesh. He pulls you up so you’re kneeling before him on the couch, your breasts level with his face. Leaning in, he stops just shy of one pebbled nipple, his hot exhalation warming your sensitive skin. Your hands itch to grab his hair and pull him in, but the suspense is delicious.

Javi palms your other breast and glides his thumb over the nipple, making you whimper. He lets out a strangled sound in his throat before latching his mouth onto the peaked bud in front of him, sending an electric current straight to your pulsing core.

Your head falls back with a gasp, and Javi pulls your body closer, moaning around your nipple. Javi is too engrossed in giving your other tit the same treatment to notice you straining at the straps of your dress and bra.

“Please,” you whimper. He pulls off your breast with a small pop and looks up at you, still massaging and caressing the flesh in each hand. His eyes are dark in the dim light of the living room, but you can see them glazed over with lust.

Javi watches you expectantly, waiting for you to voice your request.

“Please let me touch you.”

He smiles, giving you a small thrill.

“You asked so nicely.”

It's not the yes you wanted, so you wait. He leans in to kiss the tops of your breasts and traces a line up your clavicle with the tip of his tongue.

“Stand up, cariño.”

With his assistance you get up off the couch and face him, standing between his knees. The straps of your clothing are loose enough now to pull yourself free, but you wait for Javi to give his assent. He smiles softly at you from his seat on the couch, openly admiring your body on display for him.

“Take it off,” he instructs. “Slowly.”

You shed the form-fitting dress like a second skin, taking care to pull it down slowly and exaggerating the wiggle of your hips, before dropping it to the floor.

“The bra, too,” Javi amends, his breath coming out a bit labored. The bra joins the dress at your feet, and you kick the garments to the side, standing before Javi in only your panties.

You love seeing that he’s just as affected as you are. He rubs sweaty palms on his pant legs, and grips the edge of the couch cushion to keep from launching himself at you. He likes this game, too.

This is the feeling you missed – letting go of all your thoughts and worries, pleasing a partner so much by obeying simple commands, trusting that partner to not take advantage of the authority you allow them to have over you. This kind of power feels intoxicating and freeing all at once.

He lifts his hips slightly to adjust himself, and the small thrust draws your attention to his lap, your eyes widening at the clear bulge in his pants. A discoloration on the fabric, left there by your own arousal, is the only evidence of how this all started back at the gallery.

Standing there, nearly naked in front of a fully clothed man, even one with as commanding a presence as Javier Peña, doesn’t make you feel as vulnerable as you thought it might.

“Ah ah,” Javi tuts when he sees your fingers toying at the waistband of your last scrap of clothing. He gives his hard cock a squeeze with the hand in his lap, then draws a small circle in the air with one finger. “Turn around, hermosa.”

This is what makes you feel vulnerable, being unable to see Javi or know what he’s doing behind you. What you felt earlier when Javi stood behind you in the entryway of your apartment is nothing compared to the intensity of this moment.

The couch creaks, and you know he’s standing behind you – is it a change in the air pressure, or the heat emanating from his core?

Javi leaves mere centimeters separating your bodies, his breath the only sound you hear over the whooshing of your own heartbeat in your ears. Goosebumps spread again across your shoulders and down your spine, as though your skin is doing whatever it can to get closer to him. Tingles arc across your scalp, and you shut your eyes tight against the sensations your body conjures in the absence and anticipation of his touch.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle and you flinch a bit when he gently sweeps your errant locks to the side, careful not to make contact with your skin. An elusive tickle at the shell of your ear has you tilting your head to the side. The bristle of his mustache sweeps across the tender area as he speaks, low enough to bring a tremor to your sternum.

“Are you going to listen to me, cariño?”

Your mouth pops open into a small ‘O’, and you nod.

“Use your words, hermosa. I won’t tell you again.” There’s an edge in Javi’s voice, and you’re not sure if it’s the edge of authority or desperation.

The walls of your pussy grasp around nothing, and your clit throbs in time with your pulse. Digging fingernail crescents into your palms, you make fists at your sides and curl your toes into the plush rug under your feet.

“I–” Your mouth is dry and you swallow thickly to form the words he needs to hear. “I am. I’m going to listen to you.”

Javi wraps an arm around your middle, pinning you to the wall of his chest, as his other hand snakes down to cup your sex over your soaked panties. The sudden contact pulls a moan from deep in your throat and the relief makes you sag against him.

“I know you will.” The murmur in your ear is soft and warm, reassuring. The hand of the arm wrapped around you cups your breast, while the other presses the heel of its palm into your mound over your clit.

“Javi.” His name is an exhalation. “I need you.”

Your body has a mind of its own, and right now you are a slave to its impulses. Your hips move involuntarily, trying to rock into Javi’s hand, large enough to engulf your whole sex, then grind back onto his cock pressed hard against your ass.

“I know, I know.”

Javi’s words are both balm and incendiary. A small whine comes out of your mouth, and you press a hand over Javi’s, trying to increase the pressure over your clit.

“Mierda, cariño, you’re so eager.” He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger, giving it a pinch hard enough to make you gasp. “You better take me to bed, then.”

On unsteady feet, you lead Javi to the master bedroom. Standing at the side of your bed, you feel a bit bashful and unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Sit down.”

You obey and perch on the edge of the mattress, then wait for his next move. Javi saunters over, fingers going to his belt buckle, and stops in front of you. Your eyes flicker between his hands and his face, peering up at him through your eyelashes.

Javi palms himself through his pants and your mouth floods with saliva. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth and bite it a little to keep from drooling.

“So, this is it, huh?” He unbuckles the leather belt, then pulls it free from the loops around his slim waist in a single movement, catching you off guard.

“This…what?”

“This is your bed,” he reaches out and strokes your face, then holds your chin in his hand. “Where you let Pike fuck you.”

Abashed, you don’t answer right away, feeling the heat creep up your neck and bloom across your chest. You remember that Javi wants you to answer him, just the way Marcus did, by using your words.

“Yes, he fucked me in this bed.”

Javi strokes your chin with his thumb, then removes his hand to start unbuttoning his shirt. Your eyes glaze over slightly, your breath feels shallow. Javi’s gaze feels hot on your skin, and you can see his pulse beating on the side of his neck.

Keeping your arms straight behind you, you put your tits on display, hoping to entice Javi to put his hands back on you. Spreading your knees apart, you want him to see the scrap of wet fabric covering your pussy.

He lets out a deep breath through his nose that’s almost a growl, and strips his shirt completely off over his head, not bothering to finish unbuttoning it. Javi stands there, gripping his cock over his pants.

“Show me.” His words rasp in the back of his throat.

Slowly, deliberately, you pull the gusset of your panties to the side, exposing yourself to him. Chest heaving, he doesn’t say anything for a few breaths.

“Lie down on the bed. Now.” Javi’s words have a bite to them, and you scurry to follow his command.

You scoot backwards towards the middle of the bed, not willing to take your eyes off the man for a second. Pulling the covers back, Javi helps you locate the fitted sheet and move the comforter out of your way. He palms his dick one more time before taking off his pants, eyes glued to the apex of your thighs.

“Take them off.”

Hooking your thumbs into the waistband, you lift your hips enough to slide your panties down, then kick them off the side of the bed. Unconsciously, your knees fall open more when Javi pulls his underwear off and you see his cock spring out of his boxers.

Javi fists his hard length and gives it a couple strokes, precum pearling at the tip. You swallow, wishing you could take him in your mouth and taste the saltiness.

“Touch yourself for me.” He sits on the side of the bed next to you, and his cock twitches in his hand. “Show me what makes that pretty pussy feel good, cariño.”

Settling back on the pillows, you slide your hand over your breast and abdomen, down over your mound to your weeping center. You’ve barely touched your swollen and tender folds before you let out a whimper.

“That’s it, querida,” Javi’s voice, filled with hunger, urges you on.

Dipping a finger into your core, you use your own slick to glide between your lips, your breath coming out in sharp huffs. Touching the bundle of nerves at the top of your slit is like touching a live wire. Using the flat pads of two fingers, you apply gentle pressure to your clit, gliding easily now with your abundant arousal, closing your eyes from the intensity.

A warm caress on the inside of your knee and thigh is Javi’s only touch, but it’s enough to make you moan and thrust your hips up into both your hand and his.

“So impatient,” he remarks. His tone doesn’t match his mocking words, and you open your eyes again to see him slowly stroking his cock as he watches your fingers.

“Javi, please.” Desperation laces your plea as you writhe into your hand, increasing the pressure on your clit. Using your other hand to play with your tits, you pinch and roll your nipples. “Please touch me.”

“Don’t stop touching yourself.”

Javi leans over to kiss your breasts and stomach, then moves to kneel between your feet, firmly grasping the base of his cock. He lays down between your thighs, adjusting his cock so it’s pinned between his body and the mattress.

“Please-please-please,” you whisper like a prayer.

“You sound so sweet when you beg.” He takes your fingers off your clit and sucks them into his mouth.

You wonder if his resolve has finally cracked, because he wastes no time pushing your hand out of the way and licking a thick stripe from dripping hole to pulsing clit.

“Fuck, Javi!” Your startled cry doesn’t deter him or slow him down, if anything it only spurs him on. He places a hand on the back of one knee and pushes your leg back, allowing his tongue easier access. The rumble of his deep, satisfied groan only adds fuel to the fire burning in the pit of your belly.

He turns his head to kiss and nibble at your inner thigh long enough to say, “Jesus, you taste better than I imagined,” before returning to lap at the flow of your arousal. The hair on his upper lip is a sharply contrasting sensation to the thick, languid stroke of his tongue on your oversensitive flesh.

Javi’s broad shoulders under your thighs push your body up the mattress with every eager thrust of his tongue. Reaching behind you with one hand to brace against the headboard provides a bit of resistance, giving you just enough traction to bump your clit against the arch of his nose. It’s not enough, though, you need more. In vain, you try lifting your hips up to meet Javi’s face.

A heavy arm wraps around your hip and pins you to the mattress. Whining in frustration, you look down to see Javi’s eyes trained on your face. Those large, dark orbs are fixed in a determined glare. Seeing them look up at you from between your thighs is a sight to behold.

Feeling bold, but mostly curious, you tentatively reach down and thread the fingers of your other hand through Javi’s thick hair. His eyes almost flutter closed for a moment, and the hand holding your leg back eases. You keep the knee bent, though, holding yourself open for him.

Jaw slack, you watch transfixed as Javi captures your clit between his lips that are wet and shiny with your own slick. He circles his tongue around the engorged bud, the very tip sliding gently under the hood and making your hips spasm up to his face, again and again.

Panting, eyes squeezed shut, you focus on the feeling of his tongue, bordering on too much. With Javi’s hair clutched in one fist, you cling with the other to the slats of the headboard and undulate up against his plump lips.

A thick finger prods gently at your opening, moving around to get the tip wet. Javi’s lips and tongue never leave your clit, and you resist the urge to pull his head into you by his hair, scared he’ll stop if you do.

The finger slips in, stopping at the first knuckle.

“You want me to fuck you, cariño?” Javi’s voice is rough. “Is that what you want?”

“Uh huh.” It comes out with a moan as the finger slips in all the way. “Hnh, shit…yes – yes, I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me.” The rest of the words tumble from your mouth.

“Then I’ve got to get you nice and ready for my cock.” He returns to giving your clit the attention it craves. Javi’s finger starts pumping in and out, stretching your walls around its thickness.

“Fuck...fuck,” you curse and moan in time with each thrust. The beginnings of your orgasm begin to unfurl deep inside.

Javi keeps moving his finger in and out of you until it’s sliding without resistance, then starts teasing your entrance with the tip of a second. With his other hand, he spreads your lips and holds you open.

“Christ, would you look at that?” You open your eyes to see Javi watching his two fingers sink into you, drawing out a moan from deep in your belly. “Fucking beautiful. Can’t wait to watch my cock split you open like this.”

You let go of Javi’s hair to grip the pillow under your head. You’re lifting your hips up in time to meet every thrust of his thick fingers.

You can’t tell what’s more obscene, the sounds coming from your mouth or from between your legs. Turning your face into the pillow, you try to muffle some of your moans.

“Don’t cover your mouth, baby. I want to hear every fucking sound you make.”

“But,” you gasp, trying to form the words, “neighbors…”

“I want them to hear how good I make you feel, too.” He keeps his fingers buried to the knuckle inside you and crooks them just right, making you arch your back and moan.

“Thaaat’s it, let me hear you.” Tension coils, your pussy clenching down on the continuous movement of his fingers pumping and curling.

“Relax for me, cariño. I’ll never fit my cock inside you if you keep squeezing my fingers like that.”

The filth spilling from his mouth has got you wound up so tight, it’s a wonder he can still move his fingers at all. He sucks your clit back between his lips, but your hips are bucking so hard he can’t keep a good hold on it. Instead, he drips saliva at the top of your slit, then spreads it with his thumb, around and around, letting your rolling hips determine the pace and pressure.

“Javi,...I’m–fuck, I’m getting close.”

“Is this how he got you ready? Hm? Would he make you cum first on his fingers and tongue?”

“Wha– unh, god.” What the fuck is he saying? Your mind is so fuzzy, the pleasure leaving almost no room for thought or reason.

“I bet he would. I bet he’d get you nice and wet, then work you open for his cock.”

He’s asking about Marcus again, you realize. You feel the mattress shift and realize Javi’s rutting into the mattress in time with your hips. Knowing how turned on Javi is, it’s almost enough to tip you over the edge right then.

“Yes, he– he made me cum first.”

“Hard?”

“Yes! God, Javi, that feels so good – please don’t stop.” You’re white-knuckling the pillow and headboard, getting closer to the edge, the pleas falling from your lips without thought.

“He must have been something, for you to still be hung up on him. Still hungry for his cock.”

Javi spits again, more lewdly this time in his excitement, and increases the pressure of his thumb over your clit.

“Fuck, I feel it – I know you’re getting close, cariño.” Javi’s hips keep rocking into the mattress. “Are you going to cum for me?”

Your breath comes out in gasps, you can only nod in response, eyes shut tight.

“That’s it, hermosa, cum for me.” Javi’s words have you teetering on the edge. “Cum for me so I can give you my cock.”

With that final push, your fluttering walls spasm and pulse around Javi’s fingers, and he works you through it, groaning as he watches you writhing on his hand.

Javi doesn’t even let the final shudders or your orgasm subside before he’s licking your cum off his fingers like an indulgent dessert. He gives your mound a kiss, then your belly, ribs, and breasts, getting on his knees between your thighs and leaning over you, murmuring praise in a heady mixture of English and Spanish.

“That was so good, cariño, you were so good. Eres tan bonita, y sabes pinche dulce.” Leaning on one elbow, he traces your lips with the fingers that were inside you.

“Have you ever tasted yourself?” You nod, opening your mouth and licking the tip of one finger. Javi slips it past your lips, he lets out a sigh and says, “I’m going to have a lot of fun with that mouth.”

Moaning, you begin sucking eagerly at his fingers, showing him what he could look forward to. He fucks them into your mouth a few times before pulling them out, much to your disappointment.

“Another time, cariño. I need to be in that sweet pussy now.”

Javi kisses you deeply, the taste of your cum mingling on your tongues. His mustache is wet with your slick, and you run the tip of your tongue along the ridge of his upper lip, the hairs tickling. He shudders and pulls away with a low grunt.

“Condoms?” Is all he can get out in between ravishing your neck and breasts with kisses.

“Drawer.” You gesture weakly to your nightstand, running your fingers through his hair. He stretches to pull the drawer open and pulls out the unopened box of condoms you’ve had there since you moved into the apartment.

“A brand new box, just for me?” His tone is teasing as he sits back on his knees. He tears the box open and rips off a condom from the strip, tossing the rest back in the drawer.

“Um–” You get distracted watching him fist his cock. With a clearer head after your orgasm, you finally have the wherewithal to notice he’s thick and uncut. Biting your bottom lip, you think about how much fun you’ll have with him in your hands and mouth once he gives you the chance.

“Cariño?” Javi fixes you with an authoritative eye that makes your stomach flip.

“It’s not new, exactly. I just haven’t needed to open it yet.”

He looks at you curiously, and you start feeling a bit anxious.

“Are you telling me you haven’t had sex since you moved here?”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you say, “It’s not like I haven’t tried.”

Feeling a bit self-conscious, you look away and pull your knees together slightly. Javi’s hand on your thigh stops you. His eyes have softened.

Javi settles between your thighs, bracing himself while he leans down and kisses you slowly. His chest is firm under your hands, and the steady beat of his heart feels grounding. He places light kisses along your jaw up to your ear.

“The last time you had a cock inside you,” he pauses to take a breath, “was with Pike?”

You give a small nod, both of you breathing so heavily your chests press into one another on inhalation. Javi pulls back to look at you, his eyes shifting between yours and keeping you in focus.

“Can I fuck you bare, cariño?”

He’s not asking this lightly, and you know without him having to say that he will gladly accept whatever is your decision. You clench at the prospect of feeling all of Javi inside you and nod vigorously.

“Yes.”

Javi kisses you deeply and holds your face in one hand, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice deep and a bit rough. You know he’s trusting you just as much.

You continue to kiss, your hands running across his shoulders and upper back, then into his hair again. He groans into your mouth as you stroke your fingers through his thick locks.

You tilt your hips and spread your legs a bit wider, opening yourself up for him. Balancing himself on one arm, he guides the head of his cock between your folds, then slides it slowly up and down a few times, gathering your slick. You’re so wet, he’ll have no trouble entering you.

“Javi...”

“I know, I know.” Javi presses the head of his cock at your entrance and groans. “Are you ready to take my cock, cariño?”

He sits back on his knees to watch your response, his breath short and labored from holding back when you know all he wants is to plunge all the way inside you with one thrust. You roll your hips up, moaning as the tip of his swollen cock head nudges inside you. Javi grunts and pulls back a bit, gripping onto your hip.

“Fuck, look at you – you can’t wait to feel my cock filling you up.”

“Please, Javi. Please give me your cock. I need it,” you beg breathlessly.

“That’s my girl, tell me what you need,” Javi soothes his hand over your flesh, rocking his hips forward and slipping just an inch inside you, then back out. In and out, until the head is fully inside.

“I need your cock.” He pushes a bit more inside you each time he rocks his hips, caressing your belly and breasts with his other hand. “I need you to fuck me with your cock.”

“You’re still so tight, baby.” Javi huffs through flared nostrils, gritting his teeth, barely holding himself back.

“Javi, please–” Your whine chokes off with a sob as he plunges forward with a grunt.

“Fuuuuuck,” he rasps, pulling out half way, then burying himself fully in your cunt. “Is that what you needed, cariño?” He thrusts, watching his cock disappearing inside you again.

“Yes,” you whisper, letting your head fall back limply onto the pillow.

“Are you happy now that you have my cock?” Javi’s keeping his thrusts slow, but full and deep. He’s breathing heavily from his pent up lust, still not fully letting himself go.

“Yes.” The stretch of him inside you was mind numbing.

“I knew you’d be good at taking my cock, baby. You’re opening up so well for me.” Javi hooks one of your legs over his arm. “You ready for me to really fuck you now?”

“Yes, Javi – fuck me, please.”

Javi’s hips start picking up their pace, snapping forward to fill your pussy. For a few moments, you and Javi are lost to the sensations, moaning in unison every time he bottoms out inside you.

“You feel so good wrapped around my cock, hermosa.” His grip on the leg over his arm tightens. You pull your other leg back, allowing him even deeper and he swears. “I can feel your pussy sucking me in.”

He leans over, holding himself up with a hand beside your head. The change in the angle makes you gasp and clench around him.

“Mírame – look at me, cariño.”

Javi is a vision above you with his forehead furrowed and mouth open.

“What did he call you?” He slows his thrusts. “Hm? What did Pike call you when he was fucking you?”

You look at him with wide eyes, mouth agape. He smiles, and slows almost to a stop.

“Dimelo…” He grinds his hips into you, making you whine. “Tell me – now.”

“I was his good girl.” Your pussy walls contract involuntarily with your confession, making Javi moan.

“Fuck,” he starts thrusting again, “I bet you were so good for him. Were you?”

“Yes. Yes, I was his good girl.” Javi moves the leg over his arm up to his shoulder, holding onto it for leverage as he fucks into you.

“And what did you call him when you were his good girl?” His words come out a bit unevenly. Javi waits for your response, but you’re distracted by how deep his cock is.

A swift but light slap lands on your tit. “Answer me.”

You gasp, but he has your attention now, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“I called him Sir.”

“Mierda, you’re drenching my cock right now. I bet you’re thinking about how his cock felt in your tight pussy, how it filled and stretched you.”

“Oh, god–” You brace your arms over your head, using the headboard for resistance against the onslaught of Javi’s thrusts.

Thoughts of Marcus and Javi swim together, the memory of Marcus’ touch with the reality of Javi’s. The walls of your pussy begin to flutter as your second orgasm of the night starts to build.

Javi’s heavy breathing is surpassed by the sound of his thighs and balls slapping against your ass with every thrust.

“Well, if you were his good girl, then you’re my slutty little princesa. You’re my little whore. Me entiendes?”

“Yes, yes – I understand.” Your eyes are practically rolling into the back of your head when you feel Javi suddenly stop and pull out. Gasping, your eyes fly open in shock. He’s panting, and his neck glistens, flushed a beautiful shade of crimson with the veins prominently standing out.

“Roll over – c’mon, on your knees.” You obey, desperate to have his cock buried in you once again.

“Hands up here, flat.” He taps the headboard. His commands are light and natural, easy to follow.

“If you’re going to be my little whore, I’m going to fuck you like one.”

Assuming the position, Javi uses a knee to nudge your shaking legs wider, then pulls your ass back so you’re bent slightly over.

“So what are you going to call me, huh?” He smooths your hair back off your face, sweaty at your temples, and gathers it loosely in his fist. He gives it a gentle tug, prompting you to answer his question.

“I don’t know,” you gasp, and arch into his touch as he smoothes a hand over your ass. He guides his cock and slides back into your cunt in a single thrust, making the headboard sway close to the wall.

“I said keep your hands flat,” he reminds you, and gives your ass a small smack for good measure.

Your fingers flex, and you spread them wide, straightening your elbows for balance. His free hand fondles your breasts one at a time, kneading them before pinching your nipples.

“C’mon, princesa,” he urges, voice low behind your ear as he starts fucking you again. Your head gets tugged back by your hair in his fist at the nape of your neck as he fucks you harder. The angle of his cock hits that sweet spot inside you, making your eyes roll back.

“What are you going to call me when I’m fucking you like my little slut?” His hot tongue licks over your pulse point. The filthy words spilling out of his mouth are making you dizzy. “Huh? When I’m pounding this pussy so good, you can’t fucking help yourself?”

“Daddy.”

It comes out in a soft, timid whimper.

Javi smacks your ass with a stinging hand and growls in your ear, “Louder.”

“Daddy!”

“Theeere it fucking is.” Javi groans deeply in satisfaction, then licks his fingers and rubs them over your clit in time with his thrusts. “What a good little whore, taking Daddy’s cock so well.”

He lets go of your hair to grip your shoulder where it meets your neck, pulling you back onto his cock. There is no way your neighbors can’t hear the noises coming from your mouth now. You’ve completely surrendered over to Javi, and you’re certain that if he were to take his hands away you’d fall over lifeless like a doll.

“Daddy, I’m close.”

The intensity of Javi’s hands, cock, and filthy mouth is so overwhelming, you can barely get the words out.

“Are you going to cum on Daddy’s cock, princesa?” Javi’s voice is ragged, his hips stuttering.

“Imagine what he’d say – unh – if he saw you like this – absolutely wrecked, being someone else’s fuck toy.”

He must be getting close too as his cock throbs inside you, his pace faltering.

The thought of Marcus watching you get railed by Javi has you on the very brink. You can’t hold back the moans now and Javi increases the pressure and speed of his fingers over your clit. Your cunt spasms, and his cock throbs in response.

“Mierda, you’re choking my dick. Damelo, princesa – give it to me, cum for Daddy.”

Your orgasm rips through you like a freight train, all while Javi talks and fucks you through it.

“Fuuuck, yes – that’s it, cum all over Daddy’s cock. You’re squeezing me so tight.”

Javi’s thrusts slow during your most intense spasms, and the fingers on your clit still, but maintain their pressure. You ride it out, reaching back to stroke Javi’s hair while you spasm around him.

Your head begins to loll a bit, exhaustion setting in after the two mind-melting orgasms. He wraps his arms around you, then slowly lowers your upper body onto the mattress, draping his body over yours. You hug a pillow to your chest, supporting yourself while he starts fucking into you, slow and deep.

“What a good little slut.” He grunts softly in your ear each time his cock bottoms out inside you, fucking little whimpers out of you with every thrust.

“So good for Daddy.” Javi kisses your neck and the back of your shoulder. “You took Daddy’s cock so well, gonna give you my cum.” He’s beginning to get a bit breathless, his thighs shaking, thrusts getting erratic.

In this position, you’re able to reach a hand back and spread your fingers on either side of his cock as it moves. A bit further, and you’re grazing his balls every so lightly and feel them beginning to tighten and retract.

“Unh – fuck, yeah…” Javi groans through gritted teeth, then nips lightly at your shoulder making you gasp.

“Daddy, please cum for me. I want your cum. Please give it to me.”

You’re babbling, your senses focused solely on the sound of Javi’s labored breathing, the feel of his cock twitching inside you, chasing that high with him.

“Where do you want Daddy’s cum, princesa?” His words are strained now. He rises back up onto his knees, supporting himself with a hand between your shoulder blades.

“Anywhere you want, Daddy.” You contract the walls of your cunt around him for emphasis and he moans.

“Fuck, baby, don’t tempt me, I’m so close… But I think I want something else.” He grabs the globes of your ass with both hands, squeezing them, pulling them apart to see everything.

“You ever let Pike fuck your ass?”

You involuntarily clench around Javi. You and Marcus had certainly discussed it, experimented a little, but he’d never fucked you there.

“No...”

“Mmm, good. Then I’m gonna paint that ass with my cum. Esta cosa es mía ahora. It’s fucking mine.”

Eyes wide, you stretch your neck to watch Javi over your shoulder as he starts fucking you at a frenetic pace. His face, neck, and chest are flushed and gleaming with sweat. His brow is furrowed deep in concentration, teeth bared into a grimace. He lands a rough slap on your ass that makes you moan.

“Yes, Daddy – my ass is yours, only yours.”

“That’s right, princesa – all mine,” he wheezes.

Just when you think he’s about to burst inside you, Javi pulls out and starts furiously jerking his cock. Thick ropes of cum land in stripes across your ass and lower back, each spasm pulling a deep, breathy moan from him. He takes deep gulps of air into his lungs, milking every last drop of cum.

Clenching around nothing, you moan with the pleasure of bringing him to release. You’re secretly thrilled at seeing Javi brought to this degree of vulnerability.

Javi leans over and licks a small drop of cum that landed on the swell of your cheek. He bites the flesh then sucks, letting go with a pop. It’s done without inhibition or hesitation, just an impulsive, erotic claim of your body.

“Next time, princesa,” he pauses to smear the pooling cum lightly over your asshole, “I’m going to watch that beautiful face when I make you cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“Mm, I’d like that,” you say softly, and close your eyes, the adrenaline waning. Staying still for a moment, you take a deep breath, enjoying the familiar, empty ache between your thighs that can only come after an amazing fuck.

You start to lower your legs to lie in a prone position, but Javi wraps his arms around you as support, lowering you gently to the mattress.

“I’ve got you, cariño.”

You’re vaguely aware of Javi stepping into the en suite bathroom and returning with a warm wet washcloth. He gently wipes you clean and fixes the covers.

A few moments later, you feel the mattress shift as he climbs into bed next to you. Strong arms pull you into a warm embrace. A light kiss to your forehead tickles with the soft hairs of Javi’s mustache.

Sighing, you roll your body against his, resting your head on his shoulder and draping an arm across his chest. He smooths your hair off your forehead and brushes a soft kiss to your head, stroking your arm. With the steady rise and fall of Javi’s chest, the last thing you remember before drifting off is his whispered, “Sweet dreams, cariño.”

~*~*~*~

Javi doesn’t even crave a cigarette. And he can’t remember the last time he stuck around this long after sleeping with someone. Once you fall asleep in his arms, he doesn't want to risk waking you, and there is no way in hell he’s going to sneak out on you.

He reasons that he’ll relax for a bit, then wake you up to say goodbye. But the feel of you in his arms is better than he let himself indulgently imagine these past few weeks. The softness of your curves, the weight of your head on his shoulder; the implicit trust you placed in him this evening, and the ease with which you fell asleep with him holding you…

It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep too. At some point in the night he stirs, and realizes you’re out of bed, but doesn’t know what time it is. The apartment is dark now, and the only light comes peeking out from the bottom of the bathroom door. Groaning, he stretches his legs, knowing the soreness in his knees will plague him for the next couple days.

The light in the bathroom flicks off and the door opens, creaking a little. Your nude form appears, lit only by the ambient light coming through the window from the streetlamps. You pad softly across the carpet and he whispers a soft, “Hey,” so you know he’s awake. You jump just slightly then smile in relief.

“Hey, yourself,” you whisper in return, then walk to the other side of the bed and climb in.

“What time is it?” Javi rolls to face you and props his head on his hand.

“Late – or early, depending on how you look at it.”

Javi leans over to kiss your lips, then your forehead, trailing the tip of his nose down yours. You hum in that way he’s already familiar with, making him smile.

“How late-or-early?”

“Three-ish.” You kiss him, muffling his surprise.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep that long. Sorry.” Javi is about to make his excuses to leave, before you speak again.

“We better go back to sleep now. The debrief is early and I want to get up in time to bring something in for the team.”

Yawning, you roll away from him and drag his arm around you. Javi smirks, and settles in to spoon your body with his own.

“I guess I don’t need to ask what your rule is about sleeping over, then?” He kisses the back of your shoulder and you press back into him.

“Shut up and go to sleep, Javi.”

“Okay, cariño.”

Chapter 9 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

No-Pressure Taglist: @kilamonster @half-moon16 @for-a-longlongtime @pedroswife69 @pedroshotwifey @angiewatson @morallyinept @peepawispunk @i-wanna-be-your-muse @marysucks-blog @guelyury @connectioneverywhere @sunshinehaze1 @drewharrisonwriter @venturawriter @survivingandenduring @thetriumphantpanda

#rumor has it fic #senorabond writes #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #javi x reader x pike #javier pena x reader #javi peña #javier pena smut #javier peña #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #smutty smut smut

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nrdmssgs · 9 months

Note

Hello! Could you do some headcannons or some characters reacting to this scenario?

So I was sitting on the floor with my bff and we are playing a game of sorts right? He's hella competitive so I look up and i see the hottest smirk on his face. Like his eyes are half litted and just foxlike as he smirked down at me.

Now the cod characters are obvi gonna be in different situations but for example like we are training and they get their ass handed to and they just look up to see the most cockyest hottest smirk possible on our face.

You can change things if you'd like! Thank you! - JAY

TF 141 + Nikolai reacting on (different) readers, having hot smug smirk

Masterlist This is pure fluff and comfort. Sometimes with romance, sometimes platonic. AN: Jay!! Thank you for being so patient with me) I really hope, I got your request right. But if I failed - feel free to paraphrase and resend it to me, so we can figure this out. Also: I loved working on this. So much fun!!

Captain John Price

"Come on, now you are just making up words!" Price lets out a cloud of cigar smoke in the air.

But you insist, it is a real word, since you were pretty proud, it was about to win you a game of scrabble against a native English speaker.

"Somebody, look this up, I have this feeling, there's a cheater in our ranks." Captain stretches his back and shoulders, while waiting for anyones confirmation.

"Ehm, it's actually a word." Gaz leans over the table where you and Price play and shows him something on the smartphone screen. Then he looks at the letters Price has left and whistles.

"Looks like you won, congratulations," Kyle pats you on the shoulder with that.

You clapped your hands loudly and jumped up from the table. "Yes! An hour and a half in that horrible chair, my back won't thank me, but it was worth it!"

The others turn at the sound of your voice and come over to congratulate you.

Price does not stand up, but takes another puff, watching your widening cocky grin.

When you finally approach him, holding out your hand for a friendly handshake, he gathers a few letter chips into his palm.

"Sir, it was a pleasure to ruin you on this fine evening!" You wait for a handshake, but he takes your wrist, flips your hand and gives you a few of his letters.

"Go on, professor, figure yourself, where you've made a mistake." He chuckles darkly, amused by your expression getting puzzled and lost.

You look at the letters in your hand, then at the playing field... And you don't understand what word can be formed from what John gave you.

"Need a hand?" Price squints. You nod, and he takes letters one by one from your hand and places them in the field.

"What... what does that mean?" As you ask, others, for some mysterious reason, diverge to the far corners of the room.

"Someone needs a lesson, I see," Price purrs "C`mere, this is a nasty one."

As you lean closer, he brushes hair off your ear and whispers, what does the word he has just laid out on the field, mean. And with every next his word, your face becomes more red.

"Now be a darling and do the math, so that your Captain knows with what score exactly did he beat you." Price stand up, cracks his back and leaves you alone at the table.

(Of course, he will return with tea and something sweet to cheer you up. He just wanted to teach you to never celebrate too soon.)

Kyle Gaz Garrick

He was always your biggest fan. From that time, you showed him your very first painting to this very moment, your local gallery declared your private selling exhibition open.

"I bet, I don't understand even one third of the meaning behind this one, but I'm in love. Just want to look at it every day," he confesses when you get closer to him.

"And you have a trained eye for a soldier. This painting is one of the most pricey ones." You fan yourself with a price list printed out for visitors. Kyle catches it in flight, quickly finds the picture in front of which you met in the list, and looks up at you.

"Jeez, after I retire - I'll ask you to teach me how to paint!" He finally lets go of the price list in your hand and gives you a warm and soft embrace. 'Famous Garrick signature hug' as you two used to call it always. The best hug, you could ever get.

"Congratulations," He huffs in your hair, not wanting to let go. "Can I already flex, that my best friend is a famous artist?"

"Oh, yes, famous artist, that has sold zero paintings yet." You chuckle, leaning back.

"You just wait, till I become a Captain, your works will all be sold, before they are even ready." Kyle is the only man able to illuminate any space with just his laugh. You wish, you could tell that to him, but it sounds banal and vulgar even in your head.

Later that evening, when someone approaches you and asks if that painting is still available, you shake your head in excuse.

Six months later, you celebrate Kyle's birthday. His colleagues gathered in a small and cozy local pub.

You all have known each other for a long time, so they all greet you warmly when you approach their table.

Kyle jumps up and hugs you with such a speed that you almost drop the present you were hiding behind your back.

"Happy birthday!" You smile and hand him a big flat box.

Suspecting nothing, Kyle opens it and freezes in shock.

"What, what is it? Gaz, what you've got?" Johnny MacTavish was agitated as usual.

"You can't..." Kyle looks from the painting to you. "You can`t give it to me..."

"Just did it, Garrick," a wide smile spreads across your face. The more times he looks from you to the painting and back, the more smug your grin gets.

He can't thank you enough. The whole evening, he keeps repeating, "You are crazy. Freaking psycho, I tell you... I promise, I'm gonna come up with the best present on your birthday."

As the others start heading home, Price calls Kyle over. "If this is not screaming to you, you have a chance with that girl, Gaz, I'll have to send you for your hearing screening before your next deployment."

Simon Ghost Riley

You hated weekly performance reviews. Others may find it terrifying, since the Lieutenant wasn't very generous with praise, but you just couldn't stand this infinite cycle. Because every week it was the same.

"Y/N, you already know what I have to say." "Yes sir. More confidence brings better results."

You two kept going over this exact dialogue for the last month. Week after week. "More confidence, Y/N".

This review went on as usual. You reacted on your name automatically. "Yes, sir."

When others started leaving his office, you too stood up and headed to the door.

"I asked you to stay, soldier." Ghosts low voice rumbles behind your back, making you frown. Yes, maybe you should have paid more attention to what was he saying.

You turn around and land on the first chair, you see. It was useless to try to come with excuse, why you almost sneak out of his office instead of following his command, so you prepare to obediently accept his condemnation.

But he instead takes a small box sealed in plastic from his desk and throws it on the table in front of you. "Open it. And read the rules out loud. I don't have a single idea, how to play this one."

"Sir? You want us... to play a card game? Am I missing something?" Instead of an answer, he gives a long look, that could make anyone frightened. Yes, when it came to the Lt, you never knew if this man just looking at you without any particular purpose or actually was plotting to end you.

So you unpack a deck of cards and read the rules. The game wasn't too complicated, but required strategic thinking and some understanding of behavioral patterns of the opponent.

You two play a pair of rounds, and then Ghost says 'enough with training, you win this time - you get a reward'.

"Wait, how? I don't think, I'm ready..." "Observe, memorize, analyze, react, don't forget to count the cards and believe in yourself." He looks you in the eyes and nods at the deck.

At first, you panic. Does he really expect you to beat him in a game where you have to manipulate your opponent? This is not a gullible and naive colleague - this is Simon 'Ghost' Riley - someone, whom you can't just read like an open book!

But at some point you notice a particular pattern in a way, he plays. And that leads you to an idea worth of the risk.

So you start carefully tinkering circumstances to make him do just what you want. And he follows to your surprise!

In a few minutes you understand, you got him trapped. There are only a pair of moves left to defeat Ghost.

"That's what I wanted to see," Ghost leans back in his chair a bit, not even looking at his hand.

You tense up a little, wondering why he's looking at your face instead of his cards, and then you realize you're smiling broadly, enjoying the approach of victory.

"Excuse me, sir." "No, keep that smile. Remember it. Never forget the smile, with which you beat 'the Ghost' you were so afraid of. And next time you feel insecure - put on that smile for a minute, ok? Now get on with it and win this round finally."

Johnny Soap MacTavish

"But Johnny! I'm in the mood for crimes!!" you whined, as he pulled you away from the garden fence.

"Na-a-ah, no crimes for you today, lassie. I'd hate it if you end up in prison." Soaps grip around your wrist was iron.

"One berry! I won't end up in jail for eating one berry, that I've found, by the way, outside this fence, because the bush overgrown through it!" You keep protesting.

"We'll, go on a farmers market and ill buy you a flippin` ton of those berries, you little rascal!" Johnny catches you by the waist and lifts you up in his arms with such ease, as if you weigh nothing. The longed-for berries, so affably peeking out from behind the neighbor's fence, turn out to be farther and farther away.

You see them off with a sad sigh. "But the stolen ones are always sweeter!"

Soap grumbles about how childhood hit you at the wrong time, but can't help but smile. He loves coming back from deployments and hanging out with you, just the same as when you two were kids.

Today you decided to go for a picknick on the nearest lake and on the way you decided that you just need to pick a few berries from the neighbors. The fact that the neighbors were not at home at that moment did not bother you, because 'CRIMES' as you happily shrieked.

As you reached the lake, Soap went for a quick swim, and you stayed to enjoy some rare for your region sun. You never understood, how he could swim in this ice-cold water.

When he came back and didn't find you anywhere near your picnic blanket, he grew suspicious.

His suspicions grew stronger when you emerged from behind the hill, grinning contentedly.

"Well, where have you been?" Johnny folded his arms across his chest.

"First, dry yourself, you will drip water all over our blanket!" You got close enough not to scream. Too close. Because he noticed your purple tongue.

"Show me your tongue." You froze at those words.

You took a few steps back, and he cocked his head to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out in his mind.

"I was gone for 10-15 minutes... Did you manage to run to that garden and back?"

Instead of answering, you jumped up and rushed away from him. But Johnny's reaction was lightning fast: he caught up with you in a couple of swift motions and put you on his shoulders.

"I'm getting half of my dress wet because of you!" you screamed, trying to escape.

"Not half," he answered with a mischievous voice.

You followed Soap's gaze and realized that he was carrying you towards the water.

"Johnny no..."

"Johnny, yes!" he grinned ominously.

Nikolai

"You're going down, MacTavish!" You swing with such force that you almost lose your balance. A snowball flies towards Soap and you hear a soft pop as it hits his face and spills over his jacket.

"Yes!! Still the champion! Still have it!!" With a wild grin, you twirl around in a tiny victory dance. Soap could be better than you on a firing range and at training fields, but when it came to snowball fights - you were invincible.

You've secretly waited for winter and prayed for a snowfall every year just to show Johnny, you are a force to be reckoned with.

So you really deserve this little moment of triumph.

You still smile when you hear Soap calling your name.

A satisfied sneer blooming on your face as you turn around... and freeze.

Johnny stands there as if nothing had happened, the smirk on his face almost as wide as yours. And a few meters behind him is Nik, shaking the snow from behind the collar of his jacket.

"You ducked?! That's not fair, Soap!" "Since when using my knees is not fair?" Johnny moves aside little by little.

You meet Niks unamused gaze and shrug. "I am so terribly sorry, Nikolai. I swear, this was an accident!"

"Accident, yeah? I see, you like playing with snow so much..." He finishes brushing off the snow and holds out his hand to you. "Come closer, I can teach you a thing or two about snow. Where I come from, we've had a lot of it."

You shake your head. "You can't, you are not my Captain." This should have sounded like a reasoning, but comes out more as a plea.

"Captain?" Nikolai shouts, "I need to teach one of your soldiers a lesson, is it ok with you?" "Is it Gaz?" Price's voice reaches you. "No." "No objections then! Take your time!"

You quietly curse as Nik turns to you once again. He points an index finger to you, then to the ground right before him, and forms an inaudible command. "You. Here."

The last part of his order is spoken out loud in a manner that doesn't leave you any choice. "Now."

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

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just get to me in time, okay?

a/n: just reminiscing about 2019 when I was in my hardcore frank era...

warnings: frank castle x nurse!reader, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, patching up frank's wounds, blood and gore, kissing, reader has a cat

word count: 1660

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

As your cat suddenly jumped off his comfy spot on your belly with his head smooshed beneath the cliche romance novel you were unwinding with this evening, his sudden alertness and the loud meows that accompanied it caused you to put your book down, “hey, what’s up, baby?” you slowly got up from the couch and followed after him though the dim apartment, “we talked about this, Cosmo,” you gently warned the loud exclamations that he released in one of the shadowy corners of your living room, “you talking to the air just makes me think there are ghosts here.”

When he then began to purr, the soothing sound emanating from the darkness was accompanied by a familiar voice, “sorry to interrupt your thrilling Friday night, Y/n.”

“Jesus christ, Frank!” you exclaimed, nearly jumping out of your skin, “you almost gave me a heart attack! Don’t you know how to knock? Or even just use the front door?”

“Sorry,” he stepped into the light, supporting some of his weight on one of your dining room chairs as Cosmo happily rubbed his fluffy body against his heavy boots.

As the soft light emanating from the tall lamp in the corner illuminated your friend's form, the blood soaking his dark clothes and the bruises across his cheekbone made his intentions for this late-night visit crystal clear, the smile fell from your lips at once.

“And here I was hoping you just felt lonely,” you joked, trying to hide your heavy sigh, “wanted to come by for a game of scrabbled or something,” your feet already carrying you towards your kitchen, you called over your shoulder, “I’ll go get the first aid kit, you know where the bathroom is,” a sentence you had probably said to him about a dozen times by now.

After retrieving the first aid kit, or more like first aid box with the way you had expanded the contents out of precaution after you began to help Frank, it now no longer fit in the small neat cross marked container, but a bigger clear plastic box you used to store old mementoes in, one that conveniently didn’t fit under your bathroom sink anymore.

“So, what is it tonight, huh?” you sat it down on the edge of the sink and glanced over at your wounded friend, now situated on the side of the tub.

Your cat still glued to his side, one of his hands tangled in the soft grey fur behind Cosmo’s ears as the other one worked at shredding his black jacket, “just some idiot with a knife that got a bit lucky,” his breathing got heavy as he struggled with the other sleeve.

Kneeling down in front of him, you swiftly took over his actions, removing his outerwear the rest of the way for him, “where?”

“Shoulder and a few down here,” he motioned towards the large red stain on his midsection, his fingers already beginning to lift up his t-shirt.

“Don’t,” you swatted his hand away and lifted yourself up enough to fish a pair of scissors out of the box.

“Oh, come on,” his head tilted to the side as he tried to argue, “I am barely hurt, I can take my shirt off just fine.”

“I know you can,” your face stayed stony, “you can do so many very impressive things, just not right now, tough guy,” as you from the bottom hem began to cut open the black cotton that clung to his skin, “besides, I got you some spare clothes just in case.”

“You didn’t have to do that-”

“Frank, just say thanks,” you sighed, taking the last snip on your journey from the bottom up to the collar, “I basically got them for free anyway with how cheap they were.”

Lifting yourself up more, being momentarily at eye level with him as he watched you slice open the shoulders and peel the fabric off, “thank you, ma'am.”

After thoroughly washing your hands and sliding on a pair of gloves, you took a closer look at his gnarly cuts, gently inspecting his bruised cheek as well to make sure it wasn’t anything else.

“I don’t have any more of the fun stuff,” you spoke as you fished out the rest of the supplies needed, “but I can offer you some aspirin if you want.”

“Nah,” his low voice rumbled as you wetted a cotton ball with some saline, “just do it.”

“Alright,” you exhaled and began to dap and clean his wounds, the only indication of pain you received being the uncontrollable twitch his eyes occasionally did as they tracked your movements, washing over his tender flesh and wiping the crimson away.

“I see this one’s healing quite nicely,” you commented as you caught sight of the newly scabbed over bullet wound that you’d patched up not too long ago, “at least you didn’t go and get yourself shot again, so that’s always something,” you tossed the last of the stained cotton rounds into the sink as your gloved fingers then began to thread the curved needle already clasped in the cold metal of your forceps.

“Wasn’t hard to mess it up when you patched it up so good,” he watched you, both of his hands now simply resting on the porcelain of the tub, his novelty haven worn off slightly, so Cosmo had freed his good hand and moved on to curling up on the bathmat by the door.

“You ready?” you asked out of habit before you let the needle pierce his flesh.

“Yep,” he replied, a series of heavy breaths and low grunts followed suit as you closed up the cuts tainting his already scared abdomen, the muscles tensing slightly underneath your fingers as you did.

Stoic as ever, Frank took every stitch like the brick wall that he was, not complaining once as his wounds one by one got closed up and then covered with large white bandages.

As you worked on the last one that luckily missed his collarbone, your sutures slowed down as the storm within your mind grew. Now situated beside him on the edge of the bathtub, it was hard for him not to notice how your bottom lip had begun to tremble.

“Please don’t-…” he spoke, averting his usually unwavering gaze as you tied off the last knot and cut the thread, “you already know that you can’t tell me anything that will make me stop, so please don’t ask me.”

“Frank, I would never-…” you set the tools down and blinked back at him, honestly slightly offended that he’d even ask you after all of this time, “you know me well enough to be certain that I’d never ask you to change, to stop before-…” shutting your eyes a second, you said, “look, I can do a lot, but I can’t do everything. What happens the day when you stumble in here with something that I can’t just fix, that I don’t have the right means to-…” you let your head momentarily slumped down against the mass of his shoulder, “and if you refuse to let me call an ambulance? Or even worse, if you don’t get here in time, if you don’t get to me, if you go and die on me in some ally somewhere, I just-…” your voice broke as your forehead softly collided with his own, “just get to me in time, okay?” you felt sharp tears sting the corners of your eyes, “come to me even if it’s just a scratch, because as brilliant as you are, I don’t trust those crappy first aid skills of yours one bit,” the essence of a smile accompanied that teasing comment as you blinked up at him once more with glossy eyes, “come to me, because if you don’t, if you get hurt, if you die, and I could have prevented that, then I don’t know how-… how-…”

Your broken words trailed off as your eyes unintentionally flickered down towards his full lips and before you had time to think, you’d leaned in and crashed your lips against his own.

He still tasted of blood, though that fact didn’t bother you as much as you’d imagined it would. You felt one of his large palms find the side of your face as his mind eventually caught up and he began to reciprocate the unexpected kiss. As you realised what you were doing, your anxious mind feared the worst and you swiftly tried to back up to apologise for your sudden actions, though the fingers that had travelled to the back of your head and kept you there long enough to let his lightened pecks upon your lips be enough of an answer to soothe your worries.

“So,” his fingers lingered in your hair a moment longer as you parted ways, “I’m guessing that might have something to do with why you don’t want me dying in an ally somewhere, huh?”

“Why?” you breathed, biting down on the soft smile that bloomed, “you got a problem with it?”

Disappearing completely in your eyes, he simply shook his head, beaming back at you as if he hadn’t just been through a meat grinder earlier tonight.

“You know,” you eventually opened your mouth again as his intense gaze sent a shy tingle down your spine, “some patient's mom dropped off a bunch of cookies today,” you stared down at your nervous fingers as they fiddled with the fabric of one of the bulky pockets on the leg of his dark pants, “they were like insanely good, so I kinda smuggled a bunch of them home with me…”

“Oh, yeah?” a small chuckle bubbled within his throat.

“Yeah…” you kept your gaze away from his as your thumb nervously drummed against his meaty thigh, “just thought that maybe you would like one, just since, you know, you had kinda a rough night, so it only seems fair for you to get a cookie…”

#lea’s writing #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle imagine #frank castle fluff #frank castle hurt/comfort #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle angst #nurse!reader ᰔ

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asmodeus-682 · 3 months

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Headcanon/idea I randomly had

Alastor always celebrates Valentines Day with both Rosie and Zestial, he understands that the day is about love in general and not just romance. But this trio of friends has a tradition for Valentines Day.

They do a total of 4 activities together. One thst Rosie likes, one Alastor likes and one Zestial likes. The 4th activity being one they all enjoy doing. For example; the day would go like this

They meet up at a cafe for breakfast before they do the activities

Activity 1: fencing matches (Rosie's choice)

Activity 2: karaoke session at the hotel (Alastor's choice, much to Vaggie's annoyance)

Lunch at the hotel

Activity 3: reading a short horror novel together (Zestial's choice)

Activity 4: playing a board game together (eg: scrabble)

Dinner (they take turns cooking each year)

Sleepover (whoever cooked is the one who's house the sleepover is at)

Alastor sometimes asks if Nifty can tag along too if Nifty is bored on that day. Meaning on rare occasions Zestial becomes a walking jungle gym for Nifty to climb on

#hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #rosie hazbin hotel #zestial morde #zestial hazbin hotel #nifty hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #a valentines day post?#on Asmo's account? how rare/pos #vivziepop #vivienne medrano

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

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Your drider boyfriend takes you on a walk

I promise imma get back to romance, I just had this in my head tho

Drider X GN reader

General Plot: Your drider boyfriend takes you on a walk

W: restraints

Word Count: 500

Fluff Masterpost

Tip Jar

You kicked your legs trying to get the blood runnning back through them. The creature had had you hanging there for hours in the inky blackness. The silk cocoon he had you in was soft enough, but after hours and hours you couldn’t help but be stiff.

You heard the scrabbling noise you’d come to recognize as the driders approach and held your breath. His eerie red eyes appeared in the darkness.

“Shall we go on a little walk, pet?” his raspy voice cooed.

You nodded against the gag he kept in your mouth. Apparently his ears were sensitive and he didn’t like the horrified noises you made when he startled you.

A sharp claw sliced through the silk winding around you and he caught you as you started to fall to the ground. Your stomach dropped with the gravity and you had to swallow to keep your lunch down. His fingers danced over your throat as he fashioned a silk collar for you and a leash. You couldn’t help tug at it with your fingers, but he swatted them away. His silk was much too strong for you to break with your soft nails anyway.

“Be good,” he said, dragging his claws through your hair.

He gathered you up in his arms and descended the frightening height to the ground. Around you other driders went about their evenings. Your drider put you on your feet.

“Go on,” he nudged you forward.

You looked up in awe at the massive driders moving around you. You hadn’t been able to tell from your previous spot, but you were at the center of an entire colony of them. There were obviously nests made of silk meant for business and infrastructure to facilitate commerce. You cowered behind your drider as another smiled down at you with large teeth.

“Cute pet,” it said, waving its clawed fingers at you, “aren’t you a good little human? Can I pet it?”

Your drider scooped you up in its arms and stroked your head.

“They’re not used to being pet,” he said, holding you close, “I’ve only just rescued them.”

The drider leaned on its back legs, smirking and winking at you.

“Ooh it’s so good of you to adopt a feral one instead of breeding, what’s its name?” it asked.

The drider looked at you thoughtfully.

“You know, I haven’t named it, yet,” he realized.

The other drider looked at you with an appraising eye.

“What about puddles?” it asked and your drider shook his head.

“Tic tac?” he offered, then, “Winky? Porkchop? Dumpling?”

What kinds of names were these?

The drider grinned.

“I like dumpling!” he said, beaming down at you.

You shook your head vigorously. You already had a name!

He grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and pinched your face.

“Cute little dumpling!” he cooed, before setting you on your feet.

You yelled into your gag, but it was no use, all that came out was “mghhh! Nfghhj!”

“Ugh, it’s noisy!” the other drider commented, stepping away.

“Sorry, we’re working on that,” your drider grumbled, hustling you past him, but he looked a little relieved.

“You’re such a good human, dumpling,” your drider scratched your head as you strolled down the street, “you can vocalize at the riff raff all you want.”

#monster lover #monster x girl #monster oc #monster boyfriend #monster romance #human x monster #monster x human #monster x you #yandere fluff #yandere headcanons #male yandere

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taleweaver-ramblings · 6 months

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Inklings Challenge 2023: The Last Immortal of Evitra

'Tis the deadline day for the Inklings Challenge (@inklings-challenge), and I have not finished my story, but today is also Ren Faire day, and I will therefore not be able to finish today . . . but it's a long story that I'll have to post in multiple parts anyway, so have part one now, and I'll post the rest over the next week.

Also, in classic Taleweaver fashion, this is a fairy tale retelling. Which fairy tale should be fairly obvious. It is not, however, a romance.

Unedited; please be nice about typos.

~~~~~

The Last Immortal of Evitra, Part 1

Anatole Bérenger Judicaël Télesphore Corentin, lord of Blackrose Manor, last immortal of Evitra, woke to the sound of a child crying.

He let out a quiet growl as he reoriented himself to his surroundings. He’d dozed off in his study, it seemed. The last he remembered, the sun had been just at the top edge of the tall windows. Now it was gone, and the whole room was drenched in black shadows — though, of course, shadows had hidden nothing from him for the last four hundred years.

Anatole stirred and stretched, tracing the sound down the threads of magic that carried it. The child wasn’t within the manor house itself, thankfully, but it was concerningly close. Behind the stables, if Anatole read the magic aright. What it was doing there, he could guess, and the thought made him growl again. It had been a long, long time since small boys dared their friends to creep up to his home and spend ten minutes within his gates. If the practice was starting up again . . . well. It might require him to go down to the town again for the first time in decades.

Unless, of course, he could put a stop to it now. Anatole took his cloak from its hook by the door and swept it around his shoulders. Then he stalked from his study, through the halls to a side door, and out into the night.

By the time he found the child, it had stopped crying and moved inside the stables. There were no horses there anymore, nor even any hay — Anatole had no need for such things these days. But in the back, in a corner of the very last stall, there was a small boy, curled up and shivering with his eyes shut and hands balled into the ragged sleeves of his much-mended shirt.

Anatole stepped into the stall, making sure to leave space in the doorway, and growled again, low and menacing. “Boy. Leave my home or face the consequences.”

The boy startled, and his eyes flew open. Anatole knew well what the boy saw. His cursed form was a work of art, he had to admit — curving horns and red eyes and sharp fangs and claws all sharp and distinct and gleaming even without light, and the rest of him a hulking beast of shadows with just enough substance to resolve into one’s worst nightmares. It was a form to make the bravest of men turn and run.

But rather than fleeing, the boy pressed himself more firmly into his corner. “No. I’m not scared of you, demon.” His voice strongly suggested otherwise. “Oúte o thánatos, oúte i zoí, oúte ángeloi, oúte igemoníes, oúte oi dynámas —”

“Oúte oi dynámeis,” Anatole snapped. “If you’re going to threaten demons with the Holy Writ, boy, you’d better say it correctly. Fortunately for you, I am not a demon. But I am a monster.” He bared his teeth further and growled again. “Now, begone. Go home.”

“Don’t have a home.” The boy’s hands scrabbled on the floor as if searching for a crack or crevice to hold onto. “You’ve got the whole house and all the land. You can spare a corner for the night.”

“If you have no home, then get yourself to the orphanage. I understand that’s what it’s there for.” Anatole pointed out the door. “Go.”

“Won’t.” The boy, finding no handholds, crossed his arms and shut his eyes. “Go away, monster. You’re probably a bad dream anyway.”

How dare the boy defy him! How dare he!

Anatole felt the enchantments woven into every inch of the estate swell in response to his wrath. They didn’t anticipate his need the way they once would have — the curse ensured that — but they would answer swift enough if he called upon them. He could have this boy ejected and back on the road in moments, and in the morning he could add another layer of spellwork to more effectively discourage trespassers.

But it was full night, the town was well over a mile away, and there were wolves in these woods. Sending the boy out on his own would be a shade too close to outright murder for Anatole’s taste. So, with a sigh, he reached down, grabbed the boy, and slung him over his shoulder. Then he turned and trudged back towards the main house.

The boy thrashed and struggled to get free. “Let me go! Put me down, monster!”

“No.” Anatole shoved open the side door, stepped through, and then paused to lock it behind them. “If you’re spending the night on my estate, you’ll do it where I can keep an eye on you.”

The boy continued to wriggle and protest as Anatole made his way swiftly to one of the smaller guest chambers. There, with much relief, he dropped the boy onto the couch. No dust rose — cleaning spells were child’s play, and Anatole had spent his first week of isolation laying multiple in every room. But somehow, the cushions still managed to let off an air of long disuse.

Anatole took a step back. “You’ll sleep here and then leave in the morning.” Now that he’d brought the boy inside, the long-practiced rules of hospitality gripped him like an instinct. “Are you hungry?”

The boy eyed him with suspicion, but gave a tight little nod. Anatole shut his eyes, probing his awareness of the house to check what he had to offer. Apples, cold turkey left from his dinner, cheese — that would do. A few commands and a plate appeared on the low table beside the couch, along with a sturdy mug of water. Anatole opened his eyes again. “Eat.”

The boy poked at the apple suspiciously — rude of him, as Anatole had even gone to the trouble of having it sliced. “Is this fairy food?”

“I have no interest in trapping you in my home.” Anatole resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I summoned it by magic, but the food is real.”

The boy picked up an apple slice, tasted it, and seemed to approve. “Are you planning to eat me?”

“There’s not enough meat on your bones to be worth the effort.” Anatole turned. “Eat, sleep, and be gone in the morning. I will come to this room at ten o’clock, and if you are not gone, I will remove you myself — and should you return, I may rethink eating you.” He waited to hear no further protests, but rather stalked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As an afterthought, he locked it, laying a small spell so it would unlock again only after the boy had slept, and sent a command through the estate to close and lock all other doors and to only let them open at his own touch, or if they were necessary to let the boy out in the morning. With that, he made his way to his own bed and fell into a light slumber.

At half-past seven the next morning, he roused as he sensed the boy scurrying out the same side door they’d entered through the night before. Anatole remained awake until he felt the boy vanish off the edge of the estate. Then, satisfied, he drifted back into deeper sleep. He had done his duty; no one could argue that. And now the boy was gone and, with any luck, the threat of being eaten would be enough to keep others away for another hundred years or so.

~~~

Three days passed peacefully, and the fourth dawned cold, grey, and threatening either rain or snow. Anatole had decided some centuries ago that, on such days, resisting the urge to hibernate like the bear he somewhat resembled was far more trouble than it was worth. So, he spent most of the day in the library, alternately napping and listening as a speaker-spell read a book to him, stirring only when hunger made it necessary to summon a meal.

He was just waking from one of these naps when he felt a clumsy tug on the estate’s magic. Immediately, he shook himself, reaching out to see who or what dared try to use his power.

Once again, there was a child at the other end of the disturbance. The same one as before, if Anatole wasn’t mistaken. And there was another with him, smaller than he. Anatole growled, extracting himself from his blankets. Apparently, he’d been too kind to the boy last time. He would not make the same mistake again.

Outside, the sky had resolved into a storm of wind and driving rain and occasional flashes of lightning. Anatole trudged onward all the same, following the periodic tugs in his web of enchantment. A curse and a pox on the boy for choosing this day of all days to come back! And he was further from the main house this time, all the way out in the gamekeeper’s cottage — even longer disused than the rest of the estate’s outbuildings.

The door was locked, but it opened at his touch. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he swept inside, drawing himself up to his full height so he nearly touched the ceiling. “I told you not to return.”

The boy — indeed the same one as last time — looked up with wide eyes. He scrambled to his feet, darting in front of the other child. “What d’you care? You’ve got all this space and no one to live in it. We’re not hurting anything. I didn’t come anywhere near your house this time.”

“I care very much when someone trespasses on my property and tries to use my power for his own.” Anatole peered past the boy at the second child: a little girl, perhaps half the boy’s age, yellow-haired and thin-cheeked. “And you should know better than to wander into a monster’s den.”

“There’s monsters everywhere. You aren’t special.” The boy glanced behind him, and his shoulders sagged a little. “One night, Seigneur, please. Then we’ll leave. I promise. We’ll leave and we won’t come back.”

Anatole considered — but the rain and wind outside left him no choice. “I will hold you to that promise.” He turned. “Come.”

The two followed, straggling along behind him, the boy carrying a small bundle on his shoulder and helping the girl along with his free hand. However, after ten minutes, in which Anatole had to stop and wait five separate times for the children to catch up, he turned and simply scooped up both, ignoring their panicked protests. They were light as feathers, both of them — lighter than they ought to be, but perhaps that was merely the greater strength of his current form. Or perhaps he was misremembering. It had been many, many centuries since he’d had reason to carry a child.

He didn’t set the two back down until he’d reached the small guest room where he’d let the boy stay last time. There, he deposited both children onto the couch and once again summoned a platter of food: two bowls of the thick rabbit stew he’d started earlier that day for his dinner, cold flatbread rounds left from lunch, soft cheese, and juicy pears. This time, he very deliberately chose to materialize it on the table by the fireplace. “The food will stay warm until you eat it, at which point you will take care not to make a mess. You will remain in this room, the adjoining one, or the connected bathing chamber until after dawn tomorrow, and you will leave no later than ten o’clock. At no point will you disturb me. Is this understood?”

The girl just stared, but the boy nodded. “I understand. We’ll do as you say.”

“Good.” Anatole stalked from the room — but, to his surprise, the boy followed him out. “What did I say to you a moment ago?”

“I need to ask you something, sir.” The boy held his head up, dropping his tone. “If you eat one of us, make it me. Not Aimée. I’m the one who brought her here. And can you make sure she goes somewhere aside from the orphanage when you send her away?”

Anatole cast a cold glance at the boy. “The two of you together wouldn’t make as much meat as the rabbit I put in tonight’s stew. You may attend to the girl’s fate yourself when you both leave in the morning.”

“Thank you, Seigneur.” There was a bitter note in the boy’s voice, no doubt at the fact that he had to express gratitude for not being eaten. “We’ll not disturb you.”

He disappeared back into the room, and Anatole strode hastily away, working a belated drying-spell to pull the water from his cloak, clothes, and form. One night more. Then these two would be out of his hair and, with any luck, far, far away.

#story: unfinished #inklingschallenge #inklings challenge #team tolkien #genre: secondary world #(couldn't figure out how to work in both this time)#theme: food #theme: shelter #I actually have more written #but this is the cleanest break #and I want to leave myself a buffer

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vibrantbirdy · 11 months

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hi! i was hoping i could request a poe dameron x reader where he has a huge crush on the reader who works a small part of the resistance but he keeps making a fool of himself in front of them but the reader finds him cute anyways. thank u!!

Yes anon, thank you! This is such a cute request. I hope I've done it justice.

Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first before requesting.

-Birdy

Title: Crush Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga Genres: Sci-Fi; Romance; Fluff Setting: Sometime later on in the Force Awakens Characters: Poe Dameron; Reader Pairings: Poe Dameron x Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Warnings: None :) Perhaps extremely mild, fluffy, sexuality Word Count: 2805

Summary: You work for the Resistance at the Base on D'Qar. Wing Commander Poe Dameron has a crush on you and he's surprisingly awkward about it...

It's late, and you are walking the empty corridors of the Resistance Base on D'Qar. You like the base at this time of night. It's peaceful and your long trips between the various offices and briefing rooms and your own place of work, the records room, give you time to think.

You're making your final trip back to the records room for the night. In your hands is a box full of data sticks and holo chips. Every time there's a skirmish, a raid, or an offensive to plot against the First Order, Resistance Officers descend upon the archive, stripping it like locusts. They are looking for information, knowledge, maps, schematics anything that might help them understand the weaponry, tech, locations and terrain they might be up against.

You have tried to explain that if they really have to take records out of the records room, they really do need to bring them back. If this information gets lost, so too does the history of the Republic, the Resistance, the First Order and its Imperial predecessor, the Galactic Empire. No one listens. You don't mind that much. It is wartime after all.

So you spend your nights too-ing and fro-ing until you've gathered up all the records left abandoned in consoles and holo readers and on the tops of desks. You really have had to burn the candle at both ends recently and you think you know why. There are whispers spreading through the base that General Organa will soon need to launch an attack on the First Order's monstrous weapon on Starkiller base.

You take pride in what you do. It's not flying an X-Wing, but it's important.

Someone who does fly an X-Wing - and does it very well - is Wing Commander, Poe Dameron. But right now, he's scrabbling about on the floor with you, trying to salvage the precious hoard of information that went flying in a shower of little plastic bits when his droid barrelled into you from the opposite direction and sent the box flying from your hands.

"BB-8!" he exclaims, bending down to scoop up handfuls of data chips and throw them in the box he has righted for you, "C'mon buddy, how many times have I told you to watch where you're rolling!"

The little round ball of orange and white metal chitters indignantly. From your sitting position on the floor, you pause in your work to reach over and give BB-8 a reassuring pat on his semi-spherical head. The droid vibrates and makes a docile purring sound. You can't help the small laugh that escapes you. You've always thought he was the cutest little astromech around.

When you raise your eyes, Dameron is staring at you, slightly open mouthed. You're seen him around the base plenty of times, but this is the first time you've really looked at him up close. His handsome face is framed by a crop of brown curls and adorned with deep set eyes that are so dark they are almost black. Still, they sparkle like a night full of stars.

Wordlessly, Dameron reaches out a free hand to you and you take it as he pulls you back onto your feet. You pick up the box and he funnels the last of the data sticks balanced precariously in the crook of his elbow into the receptacle.

"So, how come I've not seen you around before?" He asks.

"Oh, I've been here," you laugh, "I think you've probably just been too busy to notice."

"Yeah, I'm busy, not blind..." he mutters, more to himself than to you, "Uh, I mean..."

He looks awkward and you cut him off to introduce yourself and save him from his unease. Still, you feel a pleasant blush creep into your cheeks at both his insinuation and the fact that appears to be slightly flustered in your presence.

"Poe," he responds, confidence returning with a dazzling smile that you are certain must get him into trouble.

"I know," you reply, allowing yourself to give him a cheeky smirk of your own.

"Do you always walk around the base this late at night?"

"Yes," you say simply, then, after a pause, you throw the question back at him, "Do you?"

"No," he chuckles wearily and rubs the back of his neck, "Couldn't sleep."

He does look tired. Upon closer inspection, there are dark circles under his eyes and a five o'clock shadow sits upon his well-defined jaw and creeps up towards his sharp cheekbones. There have been a lot of skirmishes with the First Order lately and a lot of good pilots have been lost, pilots under Dameron's command. You feel a flash of deep sympathy for him. You don't envy the responsibility he bears and it is clearly weighing heavy on him tonight.

"Well. Goodnight, Commander," you say after a lingering but not uncomfortable pause.

You hope he'll maybe get some rest tonight at least.

He nods at you and smiles softly.

"Goodnight."

BB-8 cheeps a farewell.

************************************************

In all the time you've been on D'Qar. You've never once seen Poe Dameron, ace pilot, in the records room. Yet here he is at your desk with BB-8 in tow.

"Hello Commander, what can I help you with today?"

"I..."

Poe draws the syllable out as he leans forward conspiratorially across the desk. He raps his knuckles on its cheap plast-cast surface. He's stalling for time. He's here to see you, you realise, and it sends a giddy little thrill through your body.

"...am here for some records," he finally says and you can tell he instantly regrets it.

He attempts to give you his trademark winning smile but it's really more of an embarrassed grimace. He looks away from you with a imperceptible shake of his head that sends a few of his rich, chocolate curls spilling across his forehead. He runs his hands through his hair, sweeping the dark tendrils back off his face.

You can see that he thinks he looks stupid. He's clearly not used to it, and you want to say something to make him feel better. You think it's sweet that he's come to see you.

Was he just passing, you wonder? Or did he plan it?

You never get the chance to ask. The sudden din of the pilot scramble alert swallows any potential words you might say whole. It is accompanied, as always, by the emergency lighting system which sets off flashing red pulses throughout the entire base.

Poe Dameron doesn't move. He's studying you intently with those endless eyes that are paradoxically both dark and luminescent.

"Uh. Commander?" You point upward to the nearest emergency light which is flashing just above your head.

Slowly, as if reluctant to tear himself away, his gaze leaves your face and follows your finger up to the ceiling.

"Right," he says, then starts and looks around wildly as if he is only just hearing the blaring alarm for the first time. "Right!"

He turns and sprints away from your desk at an alarming pace, BB-8 whizzing after him. He spins clumsily halfway down the room, momentum almost sending him barrelling into a row of desks where readers can, usually, study in relative peace and quiet. A haughty looking admin officer seated nearby rolls his eyes.

"I'll be back for those records!" Poe shouts back at you, as if it's the most important promise he's ever made.

It makes you laugh, and you hope to the Force he has the opportunity to do so as he and BB-8 disappear round the corner to prepare to take to the skies into some awful fray.

"Saved by the bell, huh?"

You jump, startled out of your reverie, and turn to see your colleague Marjane who has sidled up beside you. She's a gregarious, older lady with big heart and a preference for men half her age.

"That young man has never been awkward around a woman a day in his life," she says sagely, pointing to the spot where Poe had stood moments ago as if the outline of him were still tangible, "What spell did you use and can I have it?"

You grin and hold your hands up defensively.

"He's got a crush on you," she winks slyly and walks back to her desk.

**********************************************

The next time you see Poe Dameron it's milliseconds before he crashes into you at speed in the same corridor, on the same corner where BB-8 sent you sprawling only a few weeks earlier.

You've smacked your forehead right off his sharp, chiselled cheek bone and the two of you are are nursing your wounds either side of the corridor. You are resting your sore head against the nearest cool durasteel wall, and he is leaning his back against the opposite one, holding a palm to his face which is stricken with a comical expression of surprise.

BB-8, perhaps the most compassionate droid you've even known, rolls back and forth between you both, as if unsure of who needs the most of his sympathy.

When you finally feel like you can open your eyes again without seeing stars, you turn away from the wall and find that Poe has moved to stand directly in front of you. He's wearing a white tank top and lightweight cargo pants and he has clearly been running. His broad shoulders rise and fall from his interrupted physical exertion.

A lot of the pilots keep fit by jogging through the endless maze of corridors within the labyrinthine base during the heavy torrents of rain that occasionally lash the otherwise temperate D'Qar.

"Are you ok?" he asks, concerned, and he cups your face gently in his hands with exhilarating forwardness to examine the red mark that is blossoming on your forehead.

It's a surprisingly intimate gesture. You wonder if he can feel the heat growing in your cheeks, but his hands are already warm from exercise. You can feel the course pads of his finger tips exerting a reassuring pressure against your skin.

"Force, what a shiner, I didn't know my head was that hard!"

"You've got a good one coming in too," you say, snaking your hand up between the two of you to carefully press a finger against the clear point of impact on his cheek.

"Ow!" he breaks away dramatically and you both laugh. "I'm not sure we can blame the droid this time," you say.

BB-8 chirps and wobbles cheerfully on the floor.

"No, this one's on me. I mean you too, I guess. It takes two to uh...you know..."

"Collide in a corridor?"

"Yeah, that."

There's a stilted silence and you hope he might say something more, like, wanna hang out sometime? or I know this great place to watch the stars or let's go for a joyride in my X-Wing... but he doesn't.

"Well, I better ..." he makes a little jogging motion with his arms, "Sorry about the whole running and the crashing and the headache thing."

You smile, and try to hide the little twang of disappointment you feel.

"Of course," you say, "Good evening, Commander."

He taps two fingers off his forehead in a mock salute before jogging past you in the opposite direction from your way of travel.

BB-8 doesn't follow immediately, sitting at your feet for moment longer. You look down to see his dark, glassy photoreceptor fixed on you. You shrug at him and he gives you a consolatory whirring sound before rolling off to catch up with his master.

*************************************************

It's Poe's birthday and General Organa has given everyone strict orders to have a good time. The Resistance leadership are having to launch so many sorties against the First Order lately that she's had to place a complete ban on alcohol consumption lest the pilots have to enact an emergency scramble. This doesn't appear to have dampened the mood one iota and as you enter the hanger, the party is in full swing.

The whole base has turned out, as you'd expected. The hanger is packed with people chatting and dancing. Some of the engineers have obviously been hard at work wiring up whatever miscellaneous light sources they could find to hang rustic makeshift fairy lights from the durasteel beams and support columns. The upbeat music pulses through ancient, crackling speakers and is joined melodiously with people singing and raucous bursts of laughter.

It's a glorious feeling. Wartime hasn't been easy. You all need this.

Before you can even get yourself a drink or find your friends, someone takes your hand and leads you into the crowd of dancers. Your heart skips a beat as you realise it's Poe. He's a good dancer in that way some men are - all bent knees and elbows, but somehow able to make it rhythmical. You are grinning at each other like idiots, mirroring your energies, lost in the music.

Finally, you think.

Then, without warning, somebody jostles past you and grabs Poe around the waist. Then someone else comes. And another. And another. You soon realise it's members of his fighter squadron as they cart him away from you through the hangar and outside onto the landing grounds.

You laugh as you are swept along in the stampede of excitement that follows. Of course, you remember. It's tradition amongst the flyers to soak the birthday boy or girl with the emergency fire hoses.

Finn, the ex-Stormtrooper who has recently joined the Resistance, has the courtesy to give you an apologetic smile as he races past you to join in on the action. As a close friend of Poe, you have a suspicion that he is probably more aware than the others of the moment they have just interrupted. You don't mind. Not really.

Once outside underneath D'Qar's clear night's sky, Poe barely has the chance to ready himself when four powerful jets of water are turned on him. He jumps this way and that in a futile attempt to avoid the deluge. Any time it looks like he might escape, someone grabs him and spins him around so that he redirected back to his watery fate. He is wet through in seconds.

The gigantic, gruff but beloved Second Engineer, Toko, notices BB-8 by his feet and he picks up the little droid who screeches in alarm. Poe shouts over the noise, pointing at the big man with one hand as he skips around, trying to deflect a myriad of water blasts to his face and body.

"Not my droid! NOT MY DROID!"

Everyone laughs. The Engineer, only teasing, sets the wriggling mechanical ball down gently and gives him a pat on the head.

Finally, the hoses are turned off and Poe's squad rush towards him cheering and shouting. He shakes himself violently and flicks his dripping hands over his nearest assailants. His flyers drag him to the ground and they all collapse on top of him in a soggy, giddy heap.

*************************************************

There has been a skirmish with the First Order and the atmosphere on the base has been tense all day. The sun is setting on D'Qar and finally, finally, the fighter squadrons are retuning.

You count the X-Wings as they land, your heart racing. They're all here, you realise. Every single one of them has come back. It's so rare these days.

Your friend, Maya, claps you on the shoulder as she speeds past to greet her twin sister, Selina, the two young women colliding into a rough embrace as the latter leaps out of her X-Wing.

You are overcome with emotion and you clasp your hands over your mouth and fold in the middle. With a disbelieving laugh you put your hands on your knees and push yourself upright slowly.

Then, you are looking for him. For Poe. Your eyes scan the hanger and the landing pads beyond, a sea of orange flight suits. There. In the midst of the joyous commotion, there he is. He's checking on his flyers, slapping them on their backs, giving and receiving hugs, grasping arms tightly with comrades in relief and celebration.

As if he senses that you are looking for him, he locks eyes with you across the hanger. With a purposeful gait, he strides over until he's so close you can feel the victorious energy vibrating off his body.

He surveys your face intently with those deep pools of midnight, flicking his gaze between your lips and your eyes. He's trying to suppress a smirk, a muscle working in his cheek.

"I think I'd like to see you more often," he finally says.

It comes out funny, almost like an order, but it's the most direct he's ever been. Without hesitation, you grab him by the lapels of his orange flight suit and pull him into a deep kiss.

Fuelled by adrenaline and the heady jubilation of the moment, Poe drops his helmet, and without breaking your embrace, he circles one hand around your waist, and uses the other to support the nape of your neck. Then, he dips you almost parallel to the ground as you kiss like a scene from a romance holo.

A ripple of cheers and good natured laughter passes around the hanger as Poe sets you, breathless, back on your feet.

A dashing grin spreads wide across his handsome face.

"I'd like that too," you say as you lean in for another long awaited kiss.

#star wars fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fanfic

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andypantsx3 · 1 year

Text

Deceiving the Duke | 4 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 3.1k of 30k words | 4th of 9 chapters

summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

A few weeks on, you received a reply from Camie.

It was a great luck that the Utsushimis employed so few staff, which meant that you were the servant in charge of collecting the post. You imagined Mrs. Utsushimi would have seized on the letter as soon as she caught sight of it.

It was addressed in Camie’s horribly girlish hand, and it opened in the most typical of Camie phrasings.

Y/N, my sweet foolish friend–

Your plot is hilarious but doomed and you should end it sooner rather than later. Mumsy should have never asked you for this, it’s sure to ruin you and ruin her, even if Caroline makes a match.

I would have always taken care of her, and Inasa has promised the same. Of course you will come live with us on Inasa’s estate, too.

You’ll find a way to put a stop to things, won’t you?

She’d signed her name below with an aggressively elaborate flourish, so you knew how upsetting she truly found the news.

Guilt settled in your stomach like a leaden weight.

You shouldn’t have undertaken this plot, obviously. You’d said as much in your original missive to Camie. But now that the scheme was already well underway, you thought it had to be seen through. Otherwise, what had all this been for? The Utsushimi family would be embroiled in scandal with absolutely nothing to show for it. And you doubted Mrs. Utsushimi would be so generous with your promised wages, were you to renege on your commitments now.

Carefully folding Camie’s letter and stowing it under your mattress, you decided you’d just have to redouble your efforts. Perhaps you would start accepting dances with gentlemen just to talk Caroline up, and mention her kindly to Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui.

You wished you’d taken the chance to mention her to Lord Shouto, before you’d caused the scene at Lady Cathleen’s party. If he wasn’t actually courting Princess Yaoyorozu, that was, as rumor seemed to suggest.

With a new plan in mind, you started your morning chores, mending the hem of one of Mrs. Utsushimi’s gowns where she’d torn it, starching the linens, picking seams on the latest of Camie’s dresses you planned to wear. You helped the family with breakfast and saw them off to the milliner’s, after which you changed their bedding and washed the old sheets. You were just settling down to get more work done on one of Camie’s gowns when a knock came at the door.

When you pulled it open, you found Lord Shouto on the other side, peering into the dim of the hallway. His mouth parted in surprise to see you, those mismatched eyes going rounder at the corners. You immediately panicked, slamming the door shut on him.

Fuck! You’d been dressed in your maid attire, not expecting the family to receive a caller! Your only grace was that the hall was very dim this time of the morning–you hoped he hadn’t been able to make out your dress in the dark.

“Um!” you called through the door, your voice strangled. “Forgive me, my lord, I am not yet properly attired! I will be right back!”

You dashed up the stairs, grabbing the latest of Camie’s gowns, quickly unlacing your apron and shedding your clothes, then stuffing yourself into the dress. Your fingers scrabbled over all the ties and buttons, shaky with nerves. You were back down the stairs in under two minutes, panting, hoping Lord Shouto wasn’t working himself into a state at being so rudely received.

When you pulled the door open again, however, he was wearing a curious expression. Those eyes picked over you, seeming to note every detail, and you self-consciously tugged at the skirts of your dress. You did not even want to think of the state of your hair.

There was a bouquet of flowers in his hand, sweet purple lilacs decorated with bursts of white clover. You squinted at the flowers, remembering Caroline had told you each had a special meaning, if you knew how to interpret them.

They looked too pretty to be declarations of your idiocy, however, so you guessed they might not be for you.

“I—you must be here to see, um, Caroline?” you asked. “I’m afraid she’s out at the moment–she should be back in a few hours, however–if you want to leave your card…”

Lord Shouto shook his head, stepping forward. “I am here for you.”

Your heart tripped over itself with his proximity, and you backed up a step, leaning back to look into his face. “I–-you are?” you asked stupidly.

The tiniest hint of a smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. “I came to see that you were well, after Lady Cathleen’s.”

Your stomach churned guiltily. That was really too kind, especially considering that you’d done nothing but fling snacks at him, ramble nonsense at him, and then pretended to faint on him. To say nothing of the fact that you were pretending to be an entirely different person than the one you’d introduced yourself as. And here he was, in your doorway still, looking at you carefully, as though he meant to catch you were you to faint again.

Now that he was here, it would not be so easy to refuse him. You backed out of the doorway, gesturing him inside. “Please come in. I can serve tea in the sitting room.”

Lord Shouto inclined his head and followed you inside. You lead him to the parlor, glad you’d neatened it, wondering at your own nerve–a servant, entertaining a duke, in a sitting room that was not her own.

“The maid is, um, indisposed today,” you told him. “I’ll make the tea myself, please make yourself comfortable.”

You left him to his own devices, darting to the kitchen. You’d hoped to run into the cook but she was also apparently out, probably at market, so you threw the kettle on and spent several long minutes rummaging around for the nice tea–-the kind Mrs. Utsushimi only served when she wanted to impress. You figured a duke would definitely meet her criteria for people worth impressing.

When you returned, Lord Shouto had left his flowers laying over the settee. He was at the mantle over the fireplace, glancing through the Utsushimis’ portraits and displayed needlework. That curious look was back on his face when he turned back to you, and his eyes seemed to rove over every inch of your face.

He looked strange, in fact, as though he’d just been confronted with a startling discovery. You flushed under his scrutiny, hoping you hadn’t missed a stain on your dress or some large rip in the fabric.

You hurried to the corner and set the tea tray down on the sideboard. Your skin prickled tellingly as he drew near, and you quickly poured him a cup and ordered him into a chair to get him away from you. You did not understand why his presence made you feel so strange.

You dared to pour yourself a cup of tea, too, and perched on a chair opposite him, luxuriating in how good the tea was compared to your usual fare.

“I, um, appreciate you calling,” you said to him, watching him settle into his chair, and trying not to pay too much attention to the way his thighs filled out his breeches, or the way his shoulders seemed to take up the entire width of the chair back.

Lord Shouto sipped at his tea, humming low in his throat. “Have you recovered, Miss Utsushimi?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. It was just, um, a passing thing. I am completely fine.”

He looked satisfied, smiling softly into his tea cup. “I am happy to hear it.”

You noticed his lashes left long shadows over the tops of his cheekbones as he drank, and you pinched your leg through your skirts when you realized how deeply undue that observation was.

You quickly cast about for something to take your mind off of the way Lord Shouto looked sitting across from you.

“The flowers are pretty,” you said, glancing over at them. The purple of the lilacs looked especially deep against the lighter fabric of the settee–you wondered what purple lilac was supposed to mean, and which of the Utsushimis they were for.

Lord Shouto had said he was calling on you, but he’d not said the same of the flowers. It would be the height of conceit to think that they were also for you, especially given how completely unhinged you’d been with him to date. A man did not bring flowers to a woman who pelted him with snack cakes.

“Are they–-Caroline’s?” you guessed.

Another threat of a smile pressed at Lord Shouto’s mouth. “You speak as though you’ve never received flowers before.”

That arrested you. What did he mean, you? They were for you? You couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open.

“I–me?” you asked, dumbfounded. “I’ve never—are you certain?”

Lord Shouto’s eyebrows went up, and there was a note of something amused in his deep tone. “I should hope so.”

You left your cup on the table beside you, unable to help the way you were drawn to the flowers. Your first bouquet! And probably your only, considering your prospects and the expense. But they were so lovely, and they smelled so bright and green and fresh.

A weird giddiness came over you, and you tried to squash the feeling down.

“I–Thank you, Lord Shouto,” you said, unable to help the embarrassingly touched note in your voice. “They are beautiful.”

Lord Shouto looked a little bit smug, you thought, as you fingered some of the petals, feeling their silky smoothness on the pads of your fingers. You’d have to put them in water. And maybe hide them in your room, if you got the chance. You doubted Mrs. Utsushimi would be pleased to discover Lord Shouto had brought you flowers, considering you were supposed to be keeping a low profile.

Which you were apparently utterly failing at.

You turned back to Lord Shouto, placing your flowers on the seat next to you, unwilling to be parted from them. It was probably strange, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care quite enough to try to be normal about it all.

“They don’t mean something like learn Greek, do they?” you asked him suspiciously.

Lord Shouto laughed, out loud this time, low and easy, and the sound went straight to your head.

“They do not,” he said, but he did not elaborate on whether they did mean something. You made a note to try and look them up later.

You had the sudden, wild thought that a man bringing a woman flowers meant something more than you were currently accounting for. And it also dawned on you that you were a man and woman alone–-an impropriety by any of good society’s standards, regardless of the fact that your first meeting had been much like this as well.

“Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi should be back soon,” you blurted out, as if to reassure him that you had no inappropriate designs on him.

Lord Shouto looked unbothered, watching you with those mismatched eyes over the rim of his tea cup. “It does not matter to me. I am not here to see either.”

There was something teasing in his tone that warmed you all the way to your toes, and you had to school your face so as not to betray how much that pleased you.

You tried to remind yourself that he meant nothing by it, and that this could be nothing, in the end. And now was as good a time as any to try and talk Caroline up, now that you had Lord Shouto in your clutches.

“Caroline is good company, it is a loss,” you said. “Have you met her?”

“In passing,” Lord Shouto said. “She’s never flung anything, so I’m afraid she did not make a significant impression on me.”

You laughed. “But a better one, I hope.”

Lord Shouto did not say so.

“You’ll remember how pretty she is, though,” you said insistently. “And she does read Ancient Greek, I think. She’s accomplished on the piano forte.”

“So her hobbies are not so secret as yours?” Lord Shouto asked.

You smiled. “She is rather more accomplished. I must hide my own in order to save myself the embarrassment.”

Lord Shouto leaned forward in interest. “You’ll tell me at least one? You are aware I am a trustworthy secret keeper.”

He looked so earnest, and his tone was so genuine, you couldn’t do anything but give him what he wanted. Much may it please him to learn.

“My chief hobby is reading–though obviously not in any ancient languages. I’m…quite fond of novels, actually.” You were mostly fond of them because Camie was fond of them, and they were the principal artifact she had been able to smuggle you. But you quite liked all the tales of adventure, cunning, and head-spinning romance. The only type of adventure you’d seen thus far was this hare-brained scheme of yours–and it would not end nearly so well as the stories in your novels did.

“I too, enjoy reading,” Lord Shouto obliged you. “Though not usually novels.”

You smiled. “I’ll recommend you some, though I can’t tell if you’d enjoy them. They’re a lot of nonsense.”

“I believe I told you,” Lord Shouto said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on those thighs. “I like nonsense.”

For some reason, your heart did a weird fluttering motion in your chest. Your cheeks heated, and you grasped your tea cup tighter, as if holding on for safety.

“Well, then,” you said. “I’m certain I can oblige you. I’ll send you a list, perhaps.”

Lord Shouto looked pleased, blinking long and slow like a cat in a sunbeam. “I’d quite like that.”

You took another sip of your tea to hide some of your face, trying to reign yourself in. You had not meant for this conversation to turn towards you–Caroline was the objective here. You wracked your brain for another segue back to her.

“I’ll ask Caroline to send along recommendations as well–though they won’t be novels,” you said. “Perhaps something in Greek may tempt you.”

Lord Shouto regarded you curiously. “Your recommendations do not stand on their own?”

You frowned at him defensively. “My recommendations are the finest,” you sniffed.

A tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips, like he’d caught you. “Then I need only accept yours.”

“But really–Caroline–” you started, but Lord Shouto cut you off.

“Miss…Utsushimi,” he said, pausing strangely over the name. “It is not Caroline’s opinions I seek. My attentions are yours, and yours alone.”

You froze, a spear of ice plunging into your heart. His attentions were yours? What could he mean–which attentions, exactly? That sounded quite terribly like an admission of interest–-romantic interest–-except that would be insanity itself.

He was so very noble, and so very handsome, and you were beginning to learn that he was so very kind. You were the most horrible match imaginable for him.

You’d have to make sure he understood it.

“Lord Shouto, you understand I do not mean to marry,” you said, testing the waters.

“You’ve intimated as much,” he replied, his tone low. “Though your reasons…remain a mystery.”

For some reason, his eyes cut back to the mantle, lingering strangely over the Utsushimi family’s portraits.

“I would be a poor choice,” you said. “You understand my shortcomings already.”

Lord Shouto’s features arranged themselves into a mask of polite incredulity. “You think all a man wants in a wife is her knowledge of ancient languages?”

A laugh burst out of you. “In part.”

A tiny smile threatened the corner of Lord Shouto’s mouth again. “I assure you there are other qualities one might desire.”

Yes, like needlework and piano forte and singing and such. Your talents lay elsewhere–and plenty undiscovered.

“I also understand that your hand is all but promised to Princess Momo,” you told him. You hoped he understood what you were implying–whatever attentions he had been referencing, he needn’t lavish them on you.

“Do you?” Lord Shouto said softly.

You nodded earnestly. Lord Shouto looked thoughtful but did not elaborate.

You wondered what he was really doing here, in the Utsushimis’ sitting room. If he meant for you to be a distraction, a shield against the other debutantes while he waited on the princess. Or if he was perhaps open to marriage.

You decided it could not hurt to continue to peddle your Caroline agenda. Whatever Lord Shouto’s reasons, you were not a suitable prospect for him. But if he was open to marriage, Caroline would be a good match.

“Still, I’d like you to meet Caroline,” you said. “I’ll introduce you at the Satos’ dinner next week.”

“If you like,” Lord Shouto said vaguely, but you could tell he had no interest in her. His eyes drifted back to the mantle, roving over the miles of needlework and colorful oils of the portraits.

You sighed, sensing the enormity of the task before you.

After that, Lord Shouto steered the conversation back into calmer waters, trying to ferret out more about you. You managed to turn a great deal of it back on him, learning more about his family. You were surprised to learn he was the baby of his family, as he’d inherited his father’s title.

He told you about his eldest brother, Touya, who’d disowned the family to join some antimonarchist group in the south, and his other brother Natsuo, who’d rejected the title to become a man of the cloth instead. He talked fondly of his mother and his older sister, Fuyumi, who he seemed to visit often.

You liked the way he spoke about the people in his life, with patience and intention—even Touya, who it was clear had bad blood with the rest of the family. You could have listened to him for hours, luxuriating in his low, soft tone, the occasional conspiratorial twitch of his mouth.

He really was unlike anything you’d expected from a duke.

Eventually the tea ran cold, and the real world called back to you both. You saw Lord Shouto to the door with both regrets and a resolution forming in the back of your mind.

Whatever his interest in you, you would redirect it to Caroline, and kill two birds with one stone–Caroline could make her match, and Lord Shouto would be made to see what a pretty, qualified wife could be like. You carefully ignored the large part of you that recoiled at the thought.

It did not matter what you wanted, and you wouldn’t let yourself think on it. Lord Shouto was good, and he should make a suitable match.

You would arrange it so Lord Shouto and Caroline got a happy ending, just like in your novels.

You would make absolutely sure of it.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x you

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